


Heathens

by Hogwhorets



Category: mark fischbach - Fandom, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Deadpool - Freeform, Dublin - Freeform, Framed, Fugitive, Government, Heartbreak, Heathens, London, Prison, Psycho, Psychological, Runaway, Target, Torture, YouTube, harley quinn (inspired), villian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-07-28 20:54:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 32,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7656382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hogwhorets/pseuds/Hogwhorets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though YouTube is his dream job that he gets to live every day, Mark's been hiding another part of his life from everyone. For four years, he's been working as a tech and surveillance specialist for one of America's most infamous prisons - Alcatraz. So when you, one of the world's worst criminals and his former best friend, are shipped off to be broken down at that very prison, it resurfaces feelings of loss and betrayal that he thought he'd forgotten. Mostly from Mark's POV, think of it like Harley Quinn!Markiplier and Joker!Reader</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I KNOW what you're thinking. Another fic, really ?????? But you already have two ??????  
> I know, and the creation of this one WILL NOT affect Surprises OR Captivity at all, I promise. All three will be in the works at the same time. Let's be real though, we're all pretty pumped for Suicide Squad (coughs and Twenty One Pilot's release of the KILLER song "Heathens" aka this title) and I just had too much inspiration to let it sit, unused. Besides, this one's a little different. The ENTIRE story is from Mark's point of view, and you get to play this badass twenty-six-year old that's somehow managed to become the Queen of a crime empire. Cool enough to forgive me? I hope so. As always, your name is just that! Enjoy!
> 
> ((Seriously though, check out Heathens by Twenty One Pilots. It really sets the mood))

“What?” He froze, not sure he’d heard her correctly. “ _ What?  _ Have you lost your  _ fucking  _ mind?”

His supervisor looked down her nose at him, quirking a brow. “Excuse me, Mr. Fischbach, I’d appreciate it if you watched your language.” She adjusted her collar and fixated her eyes down at her clipboard, clearly rolling over his concerns without batting an eye. “The board thinks that this could be good for the case, and it’s already been verified. She’s coming, whether you like it or not.”

Mark couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Ma’am, I’m sorry for questioning your judgement, but she’s a  _ psychopath.  _ She’s responsible for multiple disasters,  _ not _ including her running tally of casualties.”

His supervisor let out a sarcastic laugh, leaning her weight against the edge of his desk. His office was on the base floor of the building, protected by a maze of hallways and piping that were usually quite difficult to navigate, unless someone knew the way. It wasn’t like people stopped by his desk very often – his job was behind the scenes, protecting the virtual integrity of the penitentiary and ensuring that any and all activity was monitored. That way, there were fewer errors and stronger firewalls for prying criminals.

“Keep in mind, Mr. Fischbach, she’s a young woman. She’s not a god.” Johanna Collins stopped in his doorway, turning on her heel to look at him. She was clearly waiting to deflect his next challenging remark, but he went ahead.

“A young woman who’s committed so many high crimes, they  _ shipped  _ her off to an island in one of our  _ territories.  _ She was as off the grid and inaccessible as we could get her, and now she’s just  _ here?”  _ They were making a mistake, and he had to make her understand. This wasn’t just a delinquent they were dealing with, and if they didn’t watch themselves, they’d get burned.

“I’m very aware of her crimes, sir.” Johanna smoothed down the lines of her pencil skirt with her free hand. “But you must understand that there are things going on here that are much larger than her small portion of the picture. She is necessary to our success, and despite our  _ shared  _ concerns, it is not our decision.” With that, she disappeared into the dimly lit hallway, leaving Mark in his own shocked silence.

He didn’t hesitate long. As soon as he was sure she’d gone far enough down the hall, he pulled up the security footage from every sector, eyes hungrily searching for any sign of her arrival. It was set for later today, but he knew how things worked around here. It was very unlikely that they’d dawdle with such a dangerous person on their hands.

It didn’t take long – sector three lit up like a firework, and when he opened the window, his jaw nearly hit the floor. An entourage of armed vehicles was pulling into the back lot, surrounded by an abundance of cop cars and foot soldiers, focusing primarily on the vehicle in the center. It was a steel-enforced van, used for transporting particularly dangerous criminals.

When the back doors of the van opened, he felt his heart skip a beat. The very thought of her being on the same grounds as him was terrifying. How did they expect him to work, knowing she was probably plotting one of her sick plans, gathering information right out from under their noses? He didn’t want to be a part of it, but Mark knew that he couldn’t refuse. He’d be out of a job, maybe out of a life. He knew a lot more than he was supposed to.

They dragged a small figure out of the confined space – she had a thick bag over her head, and her arms and legs were weighed down by more chains than he figured she’d be able to bear the weight of. She seemed to be having a little trouble walking, so the guards flanking her sides dragged her along. She wasn’t protesting, much to Mark’s surprise. He figured she’d have tried to fight her way out the second the van doors opened.

“Wait a second.” He highlighted part of the camera footage, zooming in on the shrouded figure. Slowly, one of the guards removed the bag, pointing a gun against her abdomen. When her face was fully revealed, he felt as if every trace of air had left his body. His blood ran cold.

She was staring directly at the camera with a wild grin plastered on her lips, but it didn’t match the wild gleam twinkling in her eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

He had barely slept the night before. Every time he closed his eyes, her wild grin was waiting for him, her knowing eyes staring through the deepest parts of him and out the other side.

Her name was (F/N) (L/N), but most people knew of her by the name she’d been given – Spectre. It was an odd name, for sure, but articles were very fond of putting it in their headlines. Mark had always been a fan of comic books, and she definitely brought the supervillain aspect to real life.

Her title was a just one. She was quite  _ obviously  _ responsible for a string of mysterious disasters and casualties throughout the last four years, but somehow, she’d always evaded capture. She was never seen at the scene of the crime, and always seemed to have a story or two lined up to protect herself. Not to mention, until she’d been captured, no one had ever seen her face.

She had an ‘alter ego,’ of sorts. Before her capture, she’d been posing as a friendly, generous internet celebrity, known for her devilish antics and gaming videos. He’d even watched her at some point, played with her on his channel, met with her at cons, but he never liked to admit it. It was last year that the world had discovered that her ‘devilish’ antics were fairly close to home.

As it turned out, thanks to the findings of a small group of freelance writers who were mysteriously missing in action, she’d been the queen of one of the most complex networks anyone had ever seen. Criminals of larger and lesser value, all pinned under her thumb in one way or another, doing all sorts of unspeakable things at the wave of her hand. Her reach was unimaginable, and it had seemed for a long time as though no part of the world was safe from her hungry fingers.

When they’d discovered her ‘alter ego,’ the all-smiles, down to earth girl she played the role of, many people refused to believe it. After all, she’d had a following well into the millions, and not a single one of them would believe the ‘ridiculous’ accusations. Mark had barely believed it at first, but the evidence kept piling up, and soon they’d all had to face the reality. Spectre had been a wolf in a woman’s clothing.

He was angry, that she taunted him. In his own home, miles away, where he should’ve been free to his own thought. He couldn’t get that perplexing expression on her face out of his head. It was there every time he blinked. How had she known he was watching?

She couldn’t have, he knew. The rational part of his brain understood that she’d probably noticed the camera when they’d freed her of her hood. The irrational part, though? It was as if she’d been waiting for them to remove the hood, eyes already pinned on her target. As if she could smell his intentions.

What were his intentions? He had no idea. He didn’t even ‘ _ intend’  _ to work on this project, if one could call it that. Johanna wouldn’t tell him much about it, but he knew bits. It was titled ‘Operation  Harlequin,’ ironically. Some important dork on the board had suggested the name, considering how comparable Spectre seemed to be to the DC villain. After all, everyone involved in the government were either dicks or dorks. He liked to put himself somewhere in between.

The entire goal of the project, as far as he could tell, was to use Spectre and her network to create some sort of abrasive international firewall. Why it was truly necessary, or why they thought it would work, he had no idea. Had they really been in any international danger, he might’ve considered it, but now? There was no point.

But he didn’t call the shots, he just took the orders. His YouTube gig was his escape, and this was his real job. Computer and security surveillance for Alcatraz, one of the most infamous prisons in the entire country. He only came in every other week for a two-day period – most of his work was done from home in Los Angeles, in a private company computer he’d had installed. He’d been roped into the job by accident, and now he knew too much to be let out of it.

“Stop it, Mark.” He sighed, setting his coffee mug down on the counter. He really needed to go check on the video and make sure that it was uploading without error, but he couldn’t take his mind off of her. He was still raw and bitter from her betrayal, and after all of this time, he hadn’t been able to let it go.

She’d known him, personally. He’d shared meals and jokes with her, played games with her and his friends, posted collabs with her on his channel. He’d welcomed her into his community and his life, never able to admit how much he’d enjoyed her company. Now, when he looked back, he cursed himself for not noticing  _ something  _ wrong. Surely he’d have picked up on clues, if he’d been looking? If he hadn’t been an idiot?

_ You weren’t an idiot,  _ A small voice reminded him.  _ She fooled the world. She left behind fifteen million fans with broken hearts and shattered hopes.  _ Mark sighed, finally mustering up the energy to go check on his video.  _ The shitty thing is, I was one of them. _


	3. Chapter 3

“So what exactly do you  _ want  _ me to do?” Mark rubbed his hands over his face, knocking his glasses out of the way. As he readjusted them, he couldn’t help but notice the small smirk on his supervisor’s face.

Johanna handed him a manila folder, stuffed to the brim with papers he couldn’t yet see. “Talk to her.”

His breath abandoned his throat. “ _ What?” _

“Talk to her,” She repeated. She pointed to the folder, motioning for him to open it. “That’s what we know of her… _ web,  _ I guess you could say. There are still too many holes, and she’s the only one with the answers. “

“So why do I have to do it?” He was absolutely bewildered. He was just a tech specialist, not a psychologist. He didn’t know how to get inside someone’s head. He could barely get into a can of Boyardee’s.

“She’s being…’ _ difficult.’”  _ Johanna sighed. He could tell by her expression that she was exhausted, and Mark almost felt bad for challenging her so much. “She refuses to speak to any of our on site psychologists, so the board called in a few specialists. We were particularly fond of one of them, Mr. Richards. He’s fairly well known for-“

“ _ Breaking the Mind,  _ yeah, I’ve seen his documentary.” Mark adjusted his glasses again, pushing them further up the bridge of his nose. He flipped through the folder, his fingers hesitating over her mug shot. It had been a year since he’d seen her face – yesterday’s exposure had been different. She’d looked deranged, like some sort of feminine twist on the infamous  _ Joker,  _ unmistakably criminal. In these pictures, she just looked like a scared little girl.

“Well, not only did  _ she  _ break  _ his  _ mind, she also broke his neck.” Johanna sat down in the chair by the wall, rolling it closer to his desk. When she caught sight of his expression, she waved her hands, shaking her head. “It wasn’t fatal, don’t look at me like that. He was just speaking to her one second, and the next, she was grinning like an animal and wrapping her hands around his neck. No one’s really sure how she did it. The break was clean and missed anything important. It was like she meant to do it.”

“Well, I imagine she  _ meant  _ to do it.” Mark grumbled, crossing his arms. There was no way in hell he was talking to her now. He didn’t even want to  _ look  _ at her.

“Mr. Fischbac-Mark,  _ please,  _ we need someone to get through to her. You’re the only one she’ll see.” Johanna looked at him as if he knew something that she didn’t. “She asked for you by name.”

“Great. Just perfect.” Mark felt slightly numb. “She broke someone’s neck, and now she wants to wring mine.” He glanced back down at the picture, at the woman he’d known so well. Or at least, he’d thought he knew her. “What, exactly, do you want me to ask her? I don’t know how any of this works. You won’t even tell me what we’re looking for.”

Johanna nodded, clearly happy with how the conversation was progressing. “We just need information on her network. The criminals she’s connected to. She’s still pulling strings somehow, and we don’t have enough of the pieces to figure out how. The reports from last near make up a small fraction of the picture.”

The color drained from his face. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” Johanna said, slowly, as if she were sounding out the words, “The reporters that discovered her secret managed to uncover her web, network, whatever you wish to call it. But they only figured out one tier of her empire.”

He nearly choked. “She had  _ three thousand  _ high crimes criminals under her, and you call that  _ one tier?” _

“It’s shocking, I know.” Johanna was looking at him in a way that showed how exhausted she was. He wondered if she’d been up all night, too. Probably, but he doubted it was for the same reasons. “Some of our investigators speculate that she has five additional tiers, just within the country. Her reach is much farther than we know, though no one can speculate why. How a woman of her origin and… _ type  _ could become such a powerful crime lord is beyond our knowledge.”

“What do you mean,  _ type?”  _ Mark narrowed his eyes. Her expression shifted, slightly surprised.

“Well, she was one of your colleagues, correct? Think of it this way – when all of this began, or at least, when we  _ speculate  _ it began, she was twenty two years old, producing gaming videos on a video interface website, and based in San Francisco, California. How a girl like her managed to get wrapped up in this to such an exponential degree is beyond my comprehension.” She looked up from her lap, crossing her own arms. “This is why we need you, Mark. She knows you, and for some reason, she trusts you. We  _ need  _ answers. As I  _ keep  _ mentioning, almost everything we have is just speculation.”

“Wait,” Mark said, confused, “If it’s mostly speculation, how can we  _ legally  _ imprison her?”

“We have sufficient evidence.” It was all she said in response, not even offering him a glance. Instead, her eyes were on her watch. “I’m afraid we’re in a hurry. Follow me.”

She was disappearing down the hallway before he could argue, and Mark found that he had no choice but to follow. The fact that (Y/N)-no,  _ Spectre _ \- was asking for him made his blood run cold, and he couldn’t put his finger on why she’d want him. He’d forced himself to stop calling her by her name after she’d been arrested. It helped him to cope and deal with the loss. 

It didn’t take long for them to get to the great room where the front desk was, and Mark couldn’t help but give Johanna a perplexed look. She pointed to the elevator, catching him by surprise. 

“Where are they keeping her?” He asked as the doors shut, glancing over at her.

She was checking her watch again. “They were keeping her in high surveillance solitary confinement, but after the incident with Mr. Richards, they moved her to base level.”

His stomach twisted. ‘Base level’ was what the guards had nicknamed the abyss of terror that was the three floors beneath ground level. It brought an entirely new twist to solitary confinement, and Mark knew that it wasn’t often that an inmate returned from below. Frankly, it was where the worst of the worst were sent to rot, and to think that she was down there…-

No, he had to stop. She deserved it, and worse. Base level would seem like child’s play to her. 

When they arrived on floor one, he couldn’t help but notice how  _ empty  _ it was. He’d been down here a few times, to fix different tech problems, and he hated every minute of it. The air alone felt twisted, and it made his skin crawl every time he stepped out of the elevator. The lighting was failing, and the scent of mold was strong. Not to mention, there was usually the low  _ thrum  _ of chaotic murmurs from inmates gone mad, but they were oddly silent today. 

“Where is everyone?” He asked, noting how many of the cells weren’t empty. It wasn’t just some missing. They were  _ all  _ missing. 

Johanna was fixing her collar again. “Well,” She said, motioning to the cell-blocks. “It’s usually the worst that are sent down here, and those are exactly the type of people that she likes to... _ recruit.  _ We couldn’t take any chances.” 

“So where are they?” Mark did his best to keep up, but she was walking too fast for his taste. It wasn’t long before they reached the next elevator, and Johanna shut the door promptly behind him. 

“High security confinement, on level seven. Believe it or not, it’s a better alternative to this.”

Mark couldn’t argue - the thin air and lack of contact was like to drive the sanest of men completely mad. He couldn’t stand to be here for five minutes, let alone years, as some of the inmates did. He watched as she hit a few buttons, trying to decipher the code. It wasn’t one he recognized, and when the elevator passed level one, he looked to her, confused. 

“There is one additional floor below base level.” Johanna explained, offering him a short glance. “It is the most secure area on the entire island.”

Mark was shocked - he’d worked here for three years, and never once had he known about this floor. “How?”

“Well, we call it level zero. It can only hold one inmate at a time, and you must have a certain degree of security clearance to gain access to the elevator alone.” She looked at him over the rim of her glasses, raising a brow. “The entire block is lined with three walls of reinforced steel, and there are three reinforced doors, each operated on different systems. It truly is a team effort just to enter, let alone escape.”

Mark watched in amazement as they passed through the doors she’d spoken of. When they passed through one, it had to roll completely to a close before the next would open, preventing anyone from making a quick entrance  _ or  _ exit.

At the third door, Johanna took her leave. “I’ll be in the observation chambers. Continue through that door,” She pointed down the hallway, “And don’t worry. There are twenty five guards installed in various locations around her chamber, should you need them. I’ll be watching, as well.” 

She said it almost like a warning, and then she was gone. As the last door rolled open, Mark brushed his hands on his pants, trying to contain the sickly feeling that was creeping up his spine.

When he was finally granted access into the main chamber, he stopped dead in his tracks. In the center of the room, hunched over, was a woman, her legs heavily chained to the floor. She had a brace around her forehead, which was also attached to a chain, and when he followed it with his eyes, he saw that it linked to a spot on the wall behind her. Her arms were the only free limbs she had, and currently, she was using them to...draw? He couldn’t tell.

She looked up when she heard his footsteps, and what he saw made his heart stop beating for a fraction of a second. 

She was sporting that wild grin again, but in her eyes, there were tears.


	4. Chapter 4

" _You came,"_ She whispered, her smile blinding. "I didn't think you'd come."

Mark didn't want to give her the satisfaction of an answer, and he wasn't sure he could, if he tried. Just seeing her in the flesh brought back the feelings he'd been repressing for a year, like the re-opening of a wound almost healed.

She seemed to notice his hesitation. "Well, go on. Say something. I know you want to." She winked, giggling. The sound was pleasant sounding, as it always had been, but it was completely inappropriate in the situation and he found that he hated the way it shook the silence. "Come on, Markmimoo, surely you're _dying_ to ask me a few questions."

The nickname stung.

  - [ **THREE YEARS AGO** ] -

_"Come on, you big dork." She was pulling his hand, guiding him skillfully through the wave of people in their way, her eyes locked on her target - the exit. "Let's just take a little break, okay?"_

_He was an idiot fumbling for words. "Yeah...I could use a break."_

_This was only the second time he'd met her in person, and as it turned out, he'd be spending most of the con by her side. Her channel had started growing just as steadily as his, faster, even, and they had a few events together. A panel the day before, and signing this morning, a Q &A tonight. Another panel, tomorrow morning, with all of their friends. He wasn't complaining - she kept him on his toes, as she was doing right now, and somehow managed to always ensure that he was comfortable coming out of his shell. _

_Despite the grabby hands and pleading voices that begged at them to stop and give hugs or dish out autographs, she plowed on. "Where are we going, though?"_

_"It's a surprise." She had a mischievous smile on her face, somehow different from the one he always saw through the screen of his computer. No, this wasn't her, "I'm up to no good" smirk. She was just up to_ something. 

_She pulled him off to the right, down a hallway he'd noticed that morning. He hadn't really thought about it until now, and he had to admit, he was curious about where it lead. It seemed as though she intended to show him, so he allowed himself to be guided, a small smile tugging at his lips._

_"Alright, now close your eyes." They'd stopped abruptly at a door at the end of the hallway. He did as he was bid, freeing his hand from her grasp so that he could place both of them over his eyes._

_A door opened, and she gently guided his shoulders forward. Her touch was always gentle. "Okay," She murmured in his ear, making him struggle to mask his shiver. "Open them."_

_He peeled back his hands, eyes greedily taking in the room. It was large and heavily equipped with piles and piles of gaming tech - the far wall's prominent and_ only _feature was a large screen, much like a built-in projector. In the center was some sort of table, with locked glass panes and shelf after shelf of gaming consoles. He recognized most of them, but a few evaded his knowledge._

_"Surprise!" She was beaming from ear to ear, anxiously awaiting his reaction._

_Mark looked to her with a grin of his own, eyebrows raised. "What is this place?"_

_"It's one of PAX's gaming lounges. Usually, you have to be a pretty big deal to come in here, but I pulled some strings." The mischievous smile returned, and he wondered what she meant by her words, but Mark didn't push. "Do you like it?"_

_"It's amazing." And it was, one hundred percent, absolutely incredible. He bent at the waist, scooping up a pile of games he didn't recognize. "What are these?"_

_"Well, ya know how they usually premiere game demos at conventions like this?" She was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes on his face. He nodded, and she continued. "Well, those, my friend, are early access disks. All of the best new games, at our disposal."_

_He felt a warmth flood his chest. "(Y/N), this is...wow. This is amazing." A small part of him was still curious as to_ how _she'd secured such a sweet gig, but again, he wouldn't push. "I guess we should try them out, then."_

_She giggled and made her way to one of the two gaming chairs positioned in front of the screen, looking back at him. "Come on then, doof."_

_He laughed softly, following her. The gaming chair felt like sitting on a cloud, if that cloud had surround sound installed along it's sides. "Thank you," Mark murmured as she stuck in the first disk, glancing over at her. "For going to so much trouble, I mean. It means a lot."_

_"You've been stressing yourself out a lot lately." She turned to face him, playfully nudging him with her elbow. Her eyes had a glint in them that he didn't recognize. "You know I'd do anything to help you, Markimoo."_

_He grinned ear to ear, loving the way the word settled across her lips. "Markimoo? I like it."_

_\------------_

He'd never addressed himself as such since her arrest. 

"Oh go on," She prodded, fingers fiddling with the braces around her ankles. Every word out of her mouth made him flinch. " _Say something,_ Markimoo."

"Don't call me that," He snapped, grabbing a chair from the wall by the door. He dragged it across the floor until it was a few feet in front of her, pulling it to a sharp stop. Mark didn't want to sit down, didn't want to make her think he was getting comfortable, but he swallowed his pride and forced himself to.

She frowned, tilting her head at him. The motion was so familiar to him it hurt. "Hm. I'll just have to come up with something _better,_ then." Her frown was gone almost as soon as it had appeared, replaced by that same, wild grin. The expression was almost feral, and he couldn't help but feel as though it looked foreign on her face. What had been a sweet face with delicate features a year ago had become a dirt-stained canvas of jagged smiles and cloudy eyes. She looked as though she'd been through hell.

 _She deserves to go through hell,_ a small voice reminded him, _She sure put you through it, and poured gas on the flames._

Mark swallowed roughly, reaching into his pocket. The tape recorder he'd been given was at the ready, but he made sure to handle it inconspicuously. "Why did you ask for me?" He tried his best to keep his voice firm. He didn't want her to know that on the inside, his blood was boiling and he felt like a slaughtered animal. 

She tilted her head again. He wished she'd stop doing that. "Who else would I ask for, silly?" Spectre crossed her legs, making the chains rattle against the cement. "I wanted to see you." Her voice was sickly sweet, and had he heard it in any other circumstances, it would've soothed him.

Mark was silent for a second, chewing on his lip. "Of course you did." He muttered, leaning back in the chair. It was hard and uncomfortable.

"Why wouldn't I, doof?" There she went again, using the little nicknames she'd branded him with as if nothing was wrong, as if he hadn't been picking up his own pieces for thirteen months.

"Did you ever consider," Mark said quietly, looking at her over the rim of his glasses, "That I didn't want to see you?"

Her frown returned. She seemed genuinely surprised by his statement and it made him uneasy. "Have I upset you?"

"That's putting it mildly." He braced his elbows against his knees, shooting her a hard glare. "Lets just be clear. I didn't come here for you. I came because they made me."

"Call it fate, then." She giggled, propping her chin on top of her first. "You've always been so stubborn." Using her other hand, she tucked loose hair behind her ears, catching his attention. He hadn't really looked at her for more than a glance, and now that he thought about it, he hardly recognized her. Instead of being (h/c) as it had been before, her hair was a cool-toned platinum, almost ghostly in appearance. It was tied up into a messy cluster of buns on each side of her head, with a few loose pieces hanging here and there. Her face was dirty and blood-stained in places, as if she'd been beaten. _Wait, has she?_ Her lip had definitely been split recently, evident in the clotted red line that slashed through the left side of her bottom lip. Her right brow bone was bruised at the end, a field of faint blues and purples, stark against her pale skin. She was almost _sickly_ pale, from what, he didn't know. She looked as though she'd been dipped in bleach. Her skin had no traces of the youthful glow he'd always seen in her. Under her right eye was a little black 'x,' a tattoo? Come to think of it, she seemed to have quite a bit of ink, particularly on the insides of her arms and across her collarbones. She was so much skinnier than he remembered, not skin-and-bones, but definitely a little malnourished. Just _what_ had she been enduring all this time?

 _You shouldn't care. She deserves it all. Worse, she deserves worse._ The voice was pleading with him, trying to reason with his pain, but a small part of him felt guilty about wishing her harm.

" _Maaaaark?"_ She cooed, trying to catch his attention. She waved her bony fingers at him. "I asked you how your life is going."

He had to bite back the words his heart tried to spit at her. _Oh, just recovering from the fact that one of my best friends turned out to be a fucking psychopath, you know, not much. Totally great._ "Fine," He said through clenched teeth. "Just fine."

"I bet you miss me," She announced, giggling. Spectre propped a hand under her chin in a cutesy fashion, her behavior unbearably similar to the girl he'd spent so much time with. Just watching her go through her mannerisms was unbearable.

"I don't." He said, too quickly.

She flinched, but quickly recovered, patting her hands on her knees. "So," She said, leaning forward. "How's your channel going?"

"Fine." He repeated, trying to keep to as minimal conversation as he could. If she could manage most of the talking, he'd be able to get away with staying quiet and still getting the job done.

"Just fine? I bet you're pretty big, by now. And what's Felix at, forty million? Forty five?" She laughed as if she were talking about an old friend, and not reminiscing on her alternate personality from the floor of her prison cell. Hearing her say his name so casually made Mark's blood run cold.

"Forty nine." He snapped, avoiding her eyes. He didn't _want_ to look at her, knowing full well that it was exactly what _she_ wanted.

"Wow, figures." She was quiet for a second. Then, in a voice dripping with pure excitement, "How about _my_ channel? Checked on it lately?"

He had, but he wouldn't say that. Mark didn't dare tell her about the hours he'd spent combing through her videos, searching for something, _anything_ to elude to the psychopath underneath. All of their collaborations, fan videos, even her playthroughs. He'd never seen her break character, not once. Even now, she was acting as if she'd just been on a trip for a long time, not locked inside of a solitary penitentiary in the middle of nowhere, nearly inaccessible. He wondered if he'd ever meet the real her, the real Spectre, the criminal mastermind. He wondered if she was any different.

"No," He said at last, "I haven't."

She frowned. "What a shame. How about the community, though? Surely you've seen things from them."

Mark was confused. She _really_ cared about her stupid channel, after everything she'd done? She asked about her fans as one would ask about a mutual friend, her eyes hopeful and also concerned. "I've seen a few things." He needed to choose his words carefully. He wanted to get her talking, but he didn't dare set her off. Mark feared what she'd be like when the real her came out. The girl that killed innocent people without batting an eye. "They feel betrayed."

She raised a brow at him, the corners of her mouth turning downward. "Betrayed? Why?"

He couldn't believe his ears. Surely she was acting, right? Trying to get a rise out of him? "Well, considering their idol turned out to be a murderous sociopath in charge of a network of elite criminals. Something like that." He was spitting word vomit and he knew it, but he couldn't make himself stop. "You know, how she pretended for years to care about all of them, met them at conventions, had private conversations with them. How she fooled all of them, making them think she was a sweet, down-to-earth person, just in it to make their days a little easier." His words were spilling out faster than he could process what he was saying. "Her friends are another story. Do I even call them friends? Were they? Guess I'll never know. Just feels kinda shitty, you know? Knowing that a person you trusted with all of your heart could betray you like that? Knowing that I shared meals with that person, played games with them, shared part of a community? Welcomed them into my life, my house, my friendship circles? Introduced them to my family on holidays, shared my deepest thoughts and secrets?" His voice was quieter now, but his words were faster.

He couldn't stop.

"I trusted ' _that person.'_ I trusted _her._ She was one of my best friends. I woke up every morning knowing that she'd been waiting to talk to me. The day didn't feel right if I wasn't talking to her, and I didn't sleep well if she didn't say goodnight. I _relied_ on her, I catered to her every need, I held her when she asked me to."

He couldn't stop.

"I just...wow, you really had me fooled. You really just knew how to do it, didn't you? How to play me all the right cards, how to make me care for you more than any of my other friends. You really figured out how to worm yourself so far into my head, you were all I could think about. Did you know that? That you were one of the most important people to me? Someone I'd do anything for?"

He couldn't stop.

"Did you know that when they first released that article? I fucking _burned_ it? Just threw it away, like the bullshit garbage I thought it was. I was sure that they were just looking for someone to take down, an easy target, because you were famous and too sweet to stand up for yourself. I _defended_ you, to anyone that _dared_ question the accountability of the accusations. Right down until there was too much evidence to deny."

He was choking up and his palms were sweaty, but he couldn't make himself stop rambling. It was as if the gates he'd been building all this time had come down all at once, releasing every thought and feeling he'd had in the last year.

"I tried _every day_ for weeks to talk to you. To get you to tell me it wasn't real, to reassure me that they were just stupid allegations. But you just dropped off the face of the fucking planet. No ' _goodbye'_ s, no ' _I'm sorry_ 's, just silence. You left me to sort all of this shit out on my own, like some stupid fucking puzzle. And you didn't even deny it!"

He was shouting at her now, but he still refused to meet her eyes. "Right down to the day they shipped you off to god-knows-where you've been, you didn't say a fucking word. You just let them build their story, their case, and you sat there and _took_ it. I waited _so fucking long_ for you to retaliate, to give them proof of your innocence." Mark stopped in his tracks, trying to get a hold on his rapid breaths. His next words were choked and quiet. "That's when I realized that it was because they were right about you, weren't they? All that time, you were just...posing, I guess? _Pretending?_ You made your bed inside my brain until I couldn't let you go, and then you just... _carved_ yourself out of it, like I meant nothing. Is that it? I was just some stupid part of your cover, some minor player in your game? Did me, Jack, Felix, the rest of them...did we mean nothing to you? Did _I_ mean nothing to you?"

He finally found the courage to turn around, his eyes searching her face for some sign of guilt. She was just staring at him, frozen, her lips pressed into a grim line. She didn't say a word, just stared at him. After a few moments of eerie silence, she straightened her back, stretching out her arms.

"Well, Johanna," She announced to the room, splitting the silence, "I think he could use a break. He seems a little tense." Her eyes rolled back towards him, locking with his own. Her lips pulled back into that wild, sickly sweet grin. "I'll see you around, Markimoo." The way she cooed the nickname at him was as if she was rubbing salt in the wound. She hadn't reacted to any of his words. It was almost as if she'd hit the mute button and zoned out. Did she care at all?

The doors opened, and he felt broad arms guide him backwards, towards the exit, but he couldn't move. He was frozen, staring at her face in his own pathetic hope that she'd give him a sign of her guilt. Maybe mouth the words, "I'm sorry."

But there was nothing.

Once again, the hand on his arm nudge him backward. He stared at her, his eyes going hard. "No," He said, clenching his jaw. "You won't." Mark turned on his heel, grimly making his way out of the room.

 


	5. Chapter 5

His phone was ringing. Again. For the eighth time this morning. As much as he wanted to hit 'Decline' and roll back over into his bed, Mark knew that _not_ answering would only mean a ninth call. Grudgingly, he pulled back his blanket just enough to grab his phone from his nightstand, hitting the little green icon.

"Hello?" He rasped, using his free hand to rub the drowsiness from his eyes.

 _"Mark?"_ It was Jack this time. He, Bob, and Wade had all been alternating, taking turns trying to get ahold of him. _"Are you okay?"_

"I'm fine," He muttered, sitting up. Mark pulled the blanket back and slid out of bed, the balls of his feet landing steadily on the cool floor. Despite the fact that it was one p.m., his room was dark as night. He'd pulled blackout curtains over the rods, hoping desperately that he'd be able to sleep through the day.

 _"No you're not. You dropped off the face of the planet. No one's heard from you, and you haven't posted anything in three days."_ Jack sounded worried. _"What happened?"_

"Don't worry about it." Mark really, _really_ didn't want to talk about it. How was he supposed to tell Jack about what had happened days before? When Spectre had successfully torn out his heart and _spat_ on it, shattering any hope he'd had that she felt any remorse for her actions. It wasn't even that she was _unrepentant,_ she seemed to have to recollection of them at all.

 _"You can't avoid all of us forever, Mark. Please, just talk to me. You're driving the rest of us crazy with worry."_ Jack let out a deep breath. _"Not to mention your mother. She's been calling Bob and Wade every hour since yesterday morning."_

Mark flinched, feeling a small pang of guilt. He hadn't wanted to worry his mom - she worried enough as it was, and he knew that something like this was probably driving her mad.

"I'll call her, don't worry about it." Mark pulled back the curtains, squinting at the afternoon light that quickly flooded his bedroom. "I just needed a break."

 _"Maybe, but this isn't like you."_ Why was it that Jack could see right through him? _"You usually post about it everywhere, and you always have some sort of plan. You've never just_ disappeared _before. You don't do that, and we both know it. So tell me what happened."_

"Why do you think something happened?" Mark sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He stumbled down the stairs towards the kitchen, greedy fingers reaching for the coffee maker. He needed some caffeine in his system.

 _"Because obviously something must've happened to make you act this way. You might've disappeared for a few days, but you've been acting weird all week. Just_ talk _to me."_ He sounded frustrated.

Mark closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Spectre's back."

The other line was silent for a second. _"(Y/N)?"_

"Don't-" Mark grit his teeth, flinching, "Don't say her name."

 _"I'm sorry."_ Jack's voice had grown noticeably quiet, which, given how loud the Irish man usually was, caught Mark off-guard. After all, Jack had known her too, hung out with her in person. They'd been friends, even if they hadn't been as close as she and Mark had. _"I thought she was...taken care of."_

"She was-well, _is._ She's still in prison, she's just a little closer to home." Mark sighed. The only people who knew about his second job - excluding his family - were Jack, Bob, and Wade. "They transferred her to Alcatraz."

 _"Oh, shite."_ From what Mark could tell, Jack was likely grimacing through the phone. _"Have you seen her?"_

Mark clenched his jaw. "I've spoken to her."

 _"You_ what _?"_

"My supervisor ordered me to. They're trying to get some information out of her for god knows what, and I'm the only one she'll talk to. How she knew I worked there is beyond me." As he poured his coffee, images of their conversation played out in his head. How he'd been unable to stop himself from pouring out his emotions to her, how she'd just blinked at him and flashed a smile in return.

 _"What did she say?"_ Mark seemed to have peaked his interest. He figured that Jack had probably had similar hopes that Mark had - that she was sorry for doing what she'd done. He didn't want to let him down, but he couldn't lie.

"It was very odd." That was putting it mildly. "She asked about her channel a lot, wondering how it was doing. She asked about my life, which I didn't address."

 _"Oh."_ Jack was quiet.

"Then I started talking, and I don't know what happened...I just couldn't stop. It was like I had the worst case of word vomit, I was pouring out all of my feelings in front of her. I asked her if she understood how much she'd destroyed her community and hurt her fans, not to mention her friends. I asked her if she was sorry at all, or if we were just part of her bullshit game." He was gritting his teeth again.

_"What...um, what did she say?"_

"Nothing." Mark shook his head, moving his glasses so that he could rub at his eyes. "Absolutely nothing. She just looked right through me, as if I was telling her a story about someone else. She acted like she had no idea what I was talking about. Then, she told the supervisor that she thought I needed a break, and I left." He let out a bitter laugh. "The worst part is, I think she _actually_ doesn't recognize that she's done anything wrong."

 _"Fuck."_ Jack also let out a bitter laugh. " _I can't believe that. How could she_ not _know?"_

"I don't know. I don't care." Mark sipped his coffee, black. "She looks...different. Very different."

_"How so?"_

"She's... _sickly_ looking. Her skin's this weird shade of white, and all of her hair is platinum. Think Targaryen blonde, but more of a cool tone. She's got all of these tattoos that she didn't used to have, and when I spoke to her, it was really clear she'd had the shit beat out of her recently." The thought of it still angered him, and he absolutely _hated_ that he cared at all. "Not to mention, she's really skinny, and I doubt she'd been properly bathed in a while. She was really grimy. You can tell from one look at her that she's been through hell."

 _"Shite, that's awful."_ Jack was quiet for a second. _"I mean, I know she did terrible things, but just picturing someone doing that to the girl_ we _knew-"_

"I know, me too." Mark realized how right he was. It wasn't that he sympathized with her, it was that he sympathized with who he'd thought she was. The sweet girl he'd known with soft touches and dimpled smiles didn't deserve any of what the real woman was going through. Oh, but Spectre did. Spectre deserved all of it. "I didn't mean to disappear, really, I just...I needed a break. She really fucked me up."

 _"No, it's okay. You don't have to explain yourself."_ Mark could hear rustling in the background. _"And I'll tell Bob and Wade what's going on, so they'll leave you alone. God, if I'd known-"_

"It's fine." Mark sighed. "Your call actually made me get out of bed, and I needed that. Otherwise I might've locked myself in my room for the rest of the week." 

They sat in silence for a few minutes - Mark sipped at his coffee, Jack just released a few heavy sighs. Finally, someone said something.

_"How are you handling this?"_

"What do you mean?" Mark furrowed his brows, a frown gracing his lips. "I told you about how I kind of lost it. I'm pissed, to be frank."

 _"No, I know,"_ Jack was speaking delicately, _"I mean overall. The year she's been gone. I know you were doing pretty well there for a while, considering how rough it was right after she...What I mean is, I know that the two of you were close."_

Mark didn't know where this was going. "We all were, I mean, we all spent a lot of time with her."

 _"No, I know, we were all good friends."_ He let out another long sigh. _"But...it was pretty clear, man. She lit up the room when she walked in, and you looked at her like she was the world. You really took it the hardest there, last October, and we were all really worried about you. I mean, it was just a month after Daniel-"_ He cut himself off, silencing that thought. Mark was grateful for that. _"I just worry about you, is all. Her coming back probably doesn't help."_

"I...I appreciate it, Jack." Mark leaned against the counter, closing his eyes. Jack was absolutely right, and it was very frustrating. "I mean, yeah, it's not easy. I just...She made me feel things I'd never felt before, you know? Like you said - she lit up the room, and she always knew just what to say, or how to handle a situation. Not to mention the way she handled people. Kids, fans, just people she ran in to. It seemed like everyone loved her." 

_"That's the thing, Mark. They did."_ He heard more rustling in the background, then creaking. Jack must've been in bed. _"Are you going to speak to her again?"_

"Well, my supervisor gave me the rest of the week off. She saw how much it shook me up, I guess. But she's making me try it again next week." Mark swallowed a lump in his throat. "God, I don't want to. I hate seeing her like that, and I hate that I _care_ _at all,_ but it's hard, you know? I've never hated someone like I _thought_ I hated her, but every time I think I'm going to give her a piece of my mind, she jumbles up my feelings and confuses me without even saying a word. Must be why she's such a good criminal."

_"I understand. It's hard...picturing her in that way. Not just in a prison cell, but as a criminal in general. I still have a hard time believing she'd be capable of stuff like that."_

"Yeah, I can't imagine it either. I hear all of the stories and see all of the proof, but...-"

 _"Me too."_ There was another long sigh. Mark released one as well, setting his mug down. _"Well, I'm going to let you mull over your thoughts. Thank you for answering my calls."_ More silence. _"I'll tell the guys what's going on, don't worry about it. Are you still going to call your mother?"_

"Yeah, here in a little while." As much as he liked getting his thoughts and feeling out into the air, Mark had to admit, he was exhausted. "Thank you, for checking up on me, Jac- Sean."

_"Like I said, I just worry. Talk to you later."_

"Yeah, goodnight."

Mark set his phone down on the counter, bracing his hands against the edges and leaning over. Hesitantly, he turned the sink on, reaching down to scoop up some water and splash it on his face. As he wiped the droplets from his skin, he couldn't help but feel a slight weight lifted from his shoulders. Knowing that Jack shared some of the same thoughts and grievances really helped him to face his own.

He tucked his phone into his pocket and began to head back to his room, trying his best to just relax and _breathe._ It was time for him to post a little apology vlog for his abrupt hiatus and get back into the swing of things.

Regardless of how he felt, Mark was determined not to let Spectre tear him apart again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you're confused, the parts written in italics are all flashbacks :-)

_"Mark?" There was a soft call of words, and then a few soft footsteps. He heard the sliding glass door roll closed, and moments later, the stairs began to creak under weight._

_Mark did his best to clean up his mess, shaking fingers grasping desperately for the small squares that littered his floor. As he reached for the box, his handle began to turn, and he panicked. He pulled himself up off of the floor and rushed into the bathroom, moving his glasses so that he could splash cold water into his eyes._

_"Mark?" She was in his room now._

_He rubbed a towel over his face, and then she was there, a gentle touch on his shoulder. He turned to her, forcing a smile over his lips, but she didn't look convinced._

_"Everyone was asking where you went." She said softly, eyes focused intently on his face. "The fireworks are going to start soon."_

_"Yeah, I'll just be a second." His voice was hoarse and he silently cursed himself for it. He might as well put the evidence on his forehead, in big bold letters._

_"You've been crying." Her words were soft and unaccusing, more like a sad realization. Before he could protest, she tenderly grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward, wrapping her arms around his torso. She didn't offer any further condolences, just held him, and he appreciated it. After a few minutes of standing there like that, she used her grip on his arm to lead him back out into the bedroom, eyes quickly finding the mess he'd made on the floor. "Oh, Mark."_

_"I_ know  _that I shouldn't be dwelling on this, I_ know  _that..." He sighed, bending down to finish cleaning up, but she stopped him.  
_

_"Tell me about him." She said it thoughtfully, and tilted her head at him in that curious, animal-like way of hers. (Y/N) lowered herself to the ground, eyes scanning the photos that littered the carpet in front of her. He was aware that she'd heard him speak of his dad multiple times, and probably knew all of what he planned to tell her, but that was just how she did things. Somehow, she just_ knew  _that he needed to get it off of his chest._

 _Mark sniffled, wiping at his cheeks. "It's just ironic...you know?" He said quietly, picking up a picture. It was of him and his brother, both grinning like idiots and squirming in the arms of his father. He couldn't have been more than six years old, and he smiled at the memory. His father had spent hours playing games with him and Tom, well past their bedtime, and had gotten the three of them in trouble with his mom. "He was this_ huge  _patriot, you know, a real military man. America really meant something to him, so the fact that he died on the Fourth of July..." He trailed off, unsure of how to finish his sentence._

_She gently took the picture from him, watching his face to make sure that it was alright. When he didn't object, she brought it into both of her hands, smiling fondly at his childish pose. "It is ironic," She said softly, glancing up at him. Everything she did was soft, gentle, as if she were constantly handling glass. After tracing her fingers over for the picture for a few seconds, she picked up another, this one of his father in the hospital._

_Mark swallowed a hard lump in his throat, feeling his eyes grow hot again. "He didn't want us to take pictures of him like that, but Dee snuck in a few. Only when he was smiling."_

_She didn't respond at first, seemingly entranced by the photo. "You know, Mark," She murmured, handing him the photo, "He's probably so proud of you. Seeing you do what you do, how many people you help."_

_Somehow, her lack of past-tense made him feel a little better. He studied the photo for a second before tucking it back into the box, as well as the rest of them. He slid the box under his bed where he kept it, and then sat back, looking at her. She surprised him then - slowly, she leaned forward, pulling him into another embrace. He welcomed this one as well, burying his face into her shoulder as the sobs finally took him again. She offered him soft coos and 'shh' sounds, fingers brushing tenderly up and down his spine._

_"I know that this day is really hard for you," She murmured into the fabric of his shirt, her right arm wrapping a little more securely around his shoulders, "But you know he doesn't want you to think of him like that. You have to think about the military man, the happy dad that introduced you to what you love." Her left hand abandoned his spine, reaching instead for his hair, which she stroked softly. "He died fighting one of the hardest wars there is, and he was one hell of a hero." Though she was adamant about what she was saying, her words were soft. She pulled back, cupping his face between both of her hands, forcing his gaze to hers. "He made you, and I'll be damned if I let you sit here and upset yourself."_

_At her words, Mark let out another sob, his eyes falling closed. She sighed, pressing her forehead to his, fingers stroking his cheeks in a calming manner. "Oh honey, I know it hurts," She murmured, continuing to gently graze his skin, "I know, honey, I know."_

_Mark reached out with his arms, pulling her into his chest and tightening his grasp around her waist. If there was one thing keeping him from having a total breakdown right now, it was her, and he didn't trust himself enough to let her go. She continued to hold him, using her legs to gently rock them back and forth. After they'd been sitting there for a while, he began to hear a soft hum. She was singing - a soft, lullaby-esque tune, one that he didn't recognize. It soothed him none-the-less, and after a few more minutes, his breathing began to study._

_"Thank you," He mumbled into her hair, sniffling. His glasses had fallen off moments ago, so there was no discomfort in burying his face into the crook of her shoulder. She let him, continuing to sing gently to him. When her tune came to an end, she pulled back, a comforting smile on her lips. It made him feel better just to see it, to know that she'd be here to help him get through the day. "Ugh," Mark groaned, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes, "I'm such a blubbering baby."_

_"Shh, no you're not." She let out a soft laugh, heading into the bathroom. When she returned, she had a wad of tissues in her hand, but she wouldn't let him take them from her. Instead, she crouched in front of him, dabbing gently at his cheeks. He leaned into her touch, thankful for the comfort. When she finished, she gave him a firm look, "Now listen to me, Mark."_

_"I-"_

_She cupped his cheeks again, effectively silencing him. "No, honey, don't say anything, just listen." Her touch returned to the soft whisper of skin it had been before, and her gaze grew a little less firm. "You are allowed to_ feel  _things, okay? Please, stop holding all of this inside of you. I know you've dealt with it for a while now, trust me, I know." The corners of her lips turned up a little, reassuring him. "But you have to let these things be felt when they come knocking. It helps, I promise. You need some release every once in a while."_

_He knew that she was right, and as much as he hated to wallow around and let himself feel bad, he knew that he needed to let it happen, as she'd said. "Okay," He whispered, voice cracking._

_"Thank you." She smiled, placing a soft kiss of his forehead, and got to her feet. "Now let's go be idiots and climb on the roof."_

_"What?" Her suggestion had definitely caught him off guard. "Why?"_

_"Because we are going to watch the fireworks and celebrate your dad, you doof." She used her grip on his hand to pull him up as well, surprising him with her strength. "The roof is more secluded, and there, you won't have to explain everything." Something about her expression turned tender, nurturing. "That way, if you need to let it out, it'll just be me and you. But at least you'll still be able to see a little light in the dark, ya know?"_

_Mark couldn't help but chuckle at her terrible pun. He rolled his eyes, pulling her in for one last hug. "That was terrible."_

_"It was original material. Quality content." She giggled, pulling open his bedroom door and starting down the stairs._

_He was hot on her heels, a doofy smile plastered on his face. "Do you even know how to get to the roof?"_

_"Of course I do." She chuckled, before realizing what she'd said. "It's a nice place to think," She added sheepishly, dimples visible on her cheeks. He knew he'd caught her in something embarrassing, so he pressed on._

_"Do you mean to tell me that you_ _sneak_   _onto my roof without my knowledge?"_

 _"I don't_   _really_ sneak,  _you're pretty oblivious." She smacked his chest, giggling. "I'm just kidding. I don't trespass or anything, I just sit up there sometimes while you're recording."_

_"Uh huh, I'm sure." Mark propped open the window, motioning for her to go through. She did, and he abruptly followed, pulling himself up onto the roof. She was already perched up there, to his surprise, and he quickly took his spot next to her. "Did we miss it?"_

_She shook her head, pointing ahead of them. "Nothing important. We're just in time for the finale." She glanced over at him, grinning, and leaned back onto her elbows._

_Mark did the same, watching the lights explode into the night sky with a newfound fondness. "They really are beautiful."_

_"Yeah," She said softly, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Yeah they are."_

_They were silent for a little while, just watching the fireworks go off one after the other, like rapid fire. When they were over, they quickly climbed back down, just in time to meet the small hoard of people who'd been wondering where they'd gone. (Y/N) had reassured them that they hadn't missed the show - she'd had a problem with an upload, she'd said, so he'd helped her figure it out. The group seemed to buy it, and before he knew it, everyone started to take off._

_A few of the Grumps stayed for a bit longer, but by midnight, they, too, were gone. Mark walked them out while (Y/N) waited at the door, already yawning. He chuckled when they returned to the kitchen, beginning to put the sea of glasses and trash where they belonged._

_"Don't worry about all of that, Markimoo," She murmured, putting a hand on his arm. When he glanced over his shoulders, she was standing on her toes to meet his eye-level, a smile gracing her soft features. "I'll take care of it. You, sir, need some rest."_

_"I'll be fi-"_

_"Nope, no arguments." She pulled him away from the sink, using her hand to push him in the direction of his room. "Off to bed with you. You haven't been getting enough sleep, and besides, we have a lot planned tomorrow."_

_He knew she was right, but there was a small tendril of panic creeping up his spine that wouldn't let him go. "(Y/N)?"_

_She'd noticed his hesitation. She always noticed, everything. "Yes, honey?"_

_Something about the way she said the word made him feel at home. "I don't...I can't go to bed yet."_

_Her eyes flashed with understanding, but she continued to push him towards his room. "Come on," She murmured softly, nudging his bedroom door open. "Go ahead, lay down."_

_He frowned. "But I just said-"_

_"No, honey, I know, just trust me." She was speaking quietly. "Go on." She nudged him forward relentlessly._

_Mark sighed, heading around to his side of the bed, and climbed in. He waited until he was under the covers to remove his sweatpants, carefully tossing them in a way that she wouldn't notice. When he was situated, she climbed on from the opposite side, coming to rest inches from his side._

_"Come here," She murmured, opening her arms to him._

_After hesitating for a moment, he did as she said, carefully positioning himself between her arms. His head rested tenderly in her lap, and her fingers began to mindlessly play with his hair. Her other fingers ran gentle lines down his back, making him shiver and relax all at the same time. "I'll stay with you until you fall asleep," She said, smiling down at him. "Close your eyes, doof."_

_He chuckled, letting his heavy lids roll closed. She continued to stroke at his back and hair, and as it began to lull him into sleep, he began to hear the lullaby once more. Smiling to himself, Mark let sleep take him._

_When he woke up the next morning, much to his surprise, she was still there. At some point during the night, she'd readjusted herself so that she was laying flat on her back, her face resting against his chest. He'd wrapped his arms around her, too, and they were so close that he could feel her heartbeat on his skin._

_She seemed to notice him stir, too, and groggily lifted her gaze to his. "Morning," She murmured, too tired to give him much more than that._

_"I figured you'd have gone home," Mark whispered, resting his chin against her temple._

_What she said next took his breath away. "I told you I'd be here for you." She mumbled drowsily, burying her face deeper into his chest. "So I looked after you while you slept, and I stayed just in case you had a nightmare." She looked up at him then, the softest of smiles ghosting across her mouth. "I'll always be here when you need me."_

_\------------------_

He'd been gripping the handle of his mug so tightly that his knuckles were white. As the memory slowly faded from his eyelids, Mark relaxed, setting the mug bag down on the counter. He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until his lungs were gasping for air, forcing him to take a long, deep breath.

His phone was in his hands before he could stop himself, and Johanna answered almost immediately. "Hello?"

"I'm leaving now." Mark said, grabbing his keys from the counter. "I want to see her."

"Are you sure?" Johanna sounded concerned. "Your break isn't over yet, and after last time-"

He set his jaw into a firm line and repeated himself. "I want to see her."

Mark hung up.


	7. Chapter 7

"You really don't have to do this." Johanna was watching him carefully, clearly trying to discern if he could really handle this. "You can wait until the week is over, you still have three days of paid leave."

"Johanna. Ma'am." He looked over at her from where they stood in the elevator, letting out a tired sigh. "I'll be okay."

She chewed her lip briefly before letting a small nod roll through her head, motioning for them to open the doors. He patiently stepped through, trying his best to mask how nervous he truly was. If anything, he was _terrified_ \- Mark had come to the realization that he could no longer avoid this, so he'd decided instead to play Spectre's head. As much as he wanted to yell at her and break down and beg her to give him answers, he'd promised himself that he'd keep it together this time. He could play mind games, too. (yeah ok u smol man)

The room was different than he'd remembered - there was a bed now, and a small breakfast nook on the far wall, near one of the observation windows. In the center of the room were two couches and a coffee table, which carried stack upon stack of various board games and card decks. Mark was surprised they'd given her so much...entertainment. Wasn't she supposed to be in solitary confinement?

Suddenly, there were arms around his neck, pulling weakly at his weight. He looked down in shock - she was hugging him, her face pressed to his chest. "You came," She murmured into the fabric of his shirt, eyes closed, "I didn't think you'd come back."

Mark swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn't return her hug. "Why would you think that?" Maybe if he wasn't hostile, she'd be more responsive.

She pulled away from him then, eyes wide. "'Cause you've been sad." She tapped her cheek almost thoughtfully, grabbing his arm and guiding him further into her cell. "I was worried about you, Markimoo."

His jaw clenched, and he had to swallow the urge to snap at her. She wouldn't stop calling him that. "Not sad, just missing someone." Mark took a seat on one of the couches, studying her movements as she lowered herself across from him. She started fumbling through the boxes of games, her greedy fingers sorting pieces and cards faster than he figured was possible.

"Missing who?" She tilted her head at him, eyes flicking up from the games just long enough to deliver the question. He noticed then how large the bags under her eyes had become - it was as if she hadn't slept in weeks, and from her size and color, he figured she hadn't eaten much either.

"A friend." He leaned back against the couch, propping his right foot horizontally across his left knee. "We were really close."

Something flickered in her eyes, but it disappeared before he could figure out what it was. " _Who?"_ She asked again, quieter this time.

"Well," He sighed, running a hand through his ear. He had to stop fidgeting. "I miss (Y/N)."

This time she was the one frowning. "You miss me?"

"I miss (Y/N)." He repeated, slightly firmer this time.

However psychotic she may be, she wasn't stupid. He saw the realization settle over her face, easing her frown into a thin, sad line. Her eyes seemed to sink further into her face, and she was looking at him with an expression he hadn't seen in a long time. She looked almost...tearful? Regretful? No, he that was what he _wanted_ to see. She was probably just tired.

She stared at him for a little longer, lips parted as if she wanted to respond, but her words were caught in her throat. Her face only seemed to grow sadder then, and almost as soon as the expression had appeared, it disappeared, replaced by her usual wild grin. "I'm right here, silly!" She said, but something in her voice wavered.

Mark froze. Something was wrong with this picture. Something was very wrong. "You are, she's not. Not anymore."

She blinked at him then, her smile somehow withstanding his low blow. It didn't touch her eyes though, and the same intensity no longer captivated her gaze. She just looked so _tired._ Not the lack of sleep kind of tired, but the kind you saw on the face of someone who'd endured hell so long that they felt the weight of it every time their moved, crushing their bones and stealing their breath.

"I'm..." The word barely left her lips, so soft that he was sure he'd been the only one who'd heard it. Yes, there were microphones throughout the room, observing them and recording everything that took place, but they weren't _that_ good.

He felt a chill settle over his bones, the truth of it hitting him like a brick. All this time, her wild smiles and peppy attitude had seemed so surreal, but he'd taken it as though she'd truly lost her mind. That's what everyone else seemed to think. Never once had he considered she was acting. Not once. Not until he'd seen that flicker of remorse, even if it had only lasted a second.

"Whatcha thinking about?" She seemed to have recovered from the small break in her facade, and she was grinning harder than ever before. She leaned forward, messy hair bouncing as she did so, and propped her chin against her fists.

"N-nothing," He mumbled, on edge. If she was acting...that meant that she was _very_ capable, more than anyone knew, and _that_ was dangerous. What he couldn't figure out was why. Why pretend to be a psychopath? It hadn't saved her from jail-time, and it likely wouldn't save her from a death sentence, when they'd finished building the case against her. What purpose could it possibly serve?

"Hey, Markimoo," She giggled, picking up a deck of cards. "Remember when we used to play this with Jack and Felix at conventions? Remember how we always won?" She was looking at him with such intensity that he felt the need to curl up and look away.

He didn't. "Yeah, I remember." It was some game she'd found on the Internet - there were always two or more teams, each consisting of two people. One player would get a clue, and would have to use vague words to get the other players to guess their clue. They couldn't say anything that related closely to the clue, so he and (Y/N) had developed a system. It was an effective one, and more often than not, they won.

"Remember how we won?" She was still staring at him, her grin like a knife wound. "All the time?"

It took him a second to understand why she was being so adamant about this. _The code. Of course she'd think of the fucking code._ Instead of giving vague clues as the clues instructed, he and her would each just tell little stories that had nothing to do with the actual word. What the other groups never knew, though, was that the third word of every sentence, excluding the first and last sentences, was a _very obvious_ clue, if not the word itself. The others never caught on.

"Yes, I remember," He said, feigning frustration. His eyes said otherwise, _go on._ What was she getting at?

"And do you remember that time at PAX East, when you accidentally knocked me off of the stage? You knew (I) was okay, and I forgave you, but you wouldn't forgive yourself, regardless of how many times I asked you why you were still apologizing." She imitated your voice. "'I just (am),' you kept saying. You felt (so) bad, and it was cute, but in a sad way. 'I'm so (sorry), (Y/N), I didn't mean to, are you okay, I'm sorry.' You were still talking about it the week after the convention." She shook her head, giggling.

Mark remembered that clearly, though he hadn't been focused on her description. "Well, I was sorry. I nearly broke your neck." As he retorted, he was picking apart her words, trying to decipher the third word of every sentence. It took a few minutes, and it when it finally dawned on him, he felt his breath catch.

_I am so sorry._

He was frozen. His ears were ringing. His fingers were trembling.

"Mark?" She leaned forward, waving a hand in front of his face. "Markimoo?"

He snapped back into it, hyper-focused on her face. He had to get her to keep talking. He spoke through clenched teeth, "I guess I was just so terrified of the thought of hurting you, ya know? You didn't move for a few seconds. I nearly jumped out of my skin."

She leaned back in her chair, eyes flashing with understanding. "You definitely jumped out of your chair. Kept shouting, '(Please) be okay! Please don't be dead!' The audience thought it was hilarious."

_Please._

His expression didn't change. "Yeah, I was fumbling around like an idiot. You know (what)? I don't regret it." 

_What?_

She tilted her head. "Well, I'm glad, seeing as how embarrassing that would be. The videos (I) posted are all over the internet, but hey, I get your point. You just (need) to think of it fondly, so it doesn't embarrass you, right? Isn't that (your) way of doing things? It can (help), I'm sure. Seems to work for you."

_I need your help._

He felt a heavy weight settle over his shoulders. What the fuck was that even supposed to mean? She needed his _help?_ To what, break out of prison? To kill more people? To fuck over another community and drag him through it with her? 

He set his jaw, eyes hard. "No."

She frowned. "No? It doesn't work for you?"

He was losing control of his emotions again, so he cast his gaze down at his hands. He was clenching his fists so tightly that his knuckles were bleached white, absent of any blood flow. Mark took a few deep breaths, trying his best to calm himself down.

"Mark." The way she said it this time was different. She gazed at him with such raw emotion, unlike anything he'd ever seen before. He knew she'd never had shown him this glimpse into her game had her back been not to the observation room, and he knew that she wouldn't show him for long. Her lip quivered, her hollow cheeks caving in defeat. It was her game, and in that moment, she looked absolutely tired of playing.

"What?" He asked softly, chewing anxiously on his lip.

She said it this time. "I'm sorry." It was only a whisper, but it was enough.

\--------------

"That was, hands down, the weirdest interaction I've ever had the displeasure of witnessing." Johanna flanked him as they exited the cell, scribbling notes onto the bottom portion of her clipboard. "She was spewing nonsense, delving into old memories that held no relevance to anything in question. I swear, it's like her mind deteriorates just a little more every hour."

"Maybe it's something in the drinking water." Mark pushed the button with his thumb, staring blankly at the wall as the elevator began to crank up. His sarcasm practically dripped from his voice, but he couldn't muster the energy to act like a decent human being.

"I know that restricted solitary confinement isn't the _best_ thing for a wandering mind, but she doesn't deserve any privileges, nor has she earned them." Johanna sighed, rubbing her temples with her fingers.

His jaw clenched. "Food and hygiene aren't _privileges."_

She was taken aback. "Mr. Fischbach, are you _defending_ her?"

He shook his head, still staring blankly at the wall. "No, of course I'm not defending her. I'm just saying that starving her and denying her any form of basic human hygiene isn't the way to get into her head. People don't begin to spill their secrets after being brutally dehumanized." He looked at her then, eyes narrow. "Or _beaten_ by the guards."

"We don't...Mark, we don't _starve_ her." She adjusted her jacket, letting out a heavy breath. After a moment, she spoke again, quietly, "She refuses to eat."

"What?" That, he hadn't expected.

"We don't know what to do. We've tried everything. If we bring her food, she leaves it there, refusing to touch it. If we force feed her, she acts like a cornered animal. It takes ten guards just to keep her down, and even then, she spits it out. We can't very well make her swallow if she's sedated, either. She won't let us hook her up to any sort of machines or needles. We've even tried bargaining with her, but she just smiles at us. She knows she's winning." Johanna looked frustrated. "If she dies because she starved to death...It's going to look bad. It's going to look very _bad."_

"What about the bruises?" He asked stubbornly.

"I'll admit, some of our guards do handle her a bit... _roughly._ You must understand, Mark, she does not make her care easy. Often it comes down to situations where it's either keep her in her place or allow her to go savage on a group of men that are just trying to do their job. She's already sent five men to the hospital, and she's nearly killed another. There _is_ no other way to handle her."

He didn't like her answers, and he wasn't sure if he believed them. "Have you ever considered that _maybe_ she acts like a cornered animal because you're forcing her to? For fuck's sake, she was chained to the floor for who knows how long. So you thought, 'Here, we'll give her a bed and some board games, that'll sure help.' Nevermind that she's extremely malnourished and refusing to sleep, and her eyebrow's so swollen it looks like a deformity. Nevermind that we don't even let her leave her cell to use the bathroom, and she has to go about it in a room full of men, all watching her piss in a bucket. Nevermind that she's been trapped three levels underground without proper air to breath for _months."_

Johanna just stared at him for a moment, lips pursed. The elevator came to a halt. They were on the ground floor. "As I said, Mr. Fischbach," Johanna said, her frown so sharp he was sure she'd cut her face, "She does not _deserve_ any privileges." 

Mark watched as she stormed off in disbelief, the weight of her words settling on his shoulders. Somehow, Spectre had wormed her way into his head again and he couldn't get her out. He hadn't even _meant_ to defend her. The words had just come out, and much like his last visit, he hadn't been able to stop himself. She was all he could think about.

_I am so sorry._

She'd broken that day. She'd let him in, let him see that she was much more than anyone thought. She was playing them all like cards and they didn't even know it. 

_I need your help._

What could she _possibly_ need his help with? Escaping? He'd sooner stop breathing than let her play him as a pawn again, and he wasn't even sure how she'd go about doing so. She was in one of the most secure prisons in the world. 

_Please._

That look in her eyes had been so desperate. She was pleading with him. What would have made her so desperate to escape the mess she'd made?

_"I'm sorry."_

 


	8. Chapter 8

His visits to her had become frequent. So frequent, in fact, that Johanna had demanded he take a break, concerned that he was becoming entranced with the criminal in chains. Truth be told, he'd been entranced by her for a long time, but he wouldn't tell that to his supervisor. He just had to know more - as of late, (Y/N) spoke completely in code, feeding him information and apologies without ever letting on. The observers had no idea, and they did their best to keep it that way.

The day before, he'd spent hours with her, telling old stories and all the while passing messages between the lines. They talked about a lot of things. How her life had been since her arrest, how he'd handled the news, how he was doing now. She was a completely different person in her words, and it was a refreshing change from the wild, psychotic grins and cutesy attitude she'd adopted. Through her words, she was the girl he'd known a year ago. Humble, reserved, and so breathtakingly kind.

She apologized to him every day. If he didn't have sessions with her in person, she wrote messages out in her journal. Johanna had started having (Y/N)'s journals delivered to his office in a desperate hope that he might be able to see through the madness. She was constantly on edge, constantly scribbling notes about their conversations. His supervisor watched the two of them with hungry eyes and predatory grimaces, always ready for the criminal to crack.

He fed her lies. False information. Just enough to keep her at bay. It worked, for the most part. Every now and then she demanded more, but she always seemed to buy that he was giving her as much as (Y/N) told him. He'd become alarmingly aware of _just_ how good (Y/N) was at lying on the spot.

He sat at his desk, eyes greedily searching her words. A stack of her journals was propped next to his microphone, patiently waiting for him to crack them. He had two primary goals on the days he didn't visit her - keep up with his channel, and disassemble her journals. He managed to keep his videos regular, for the most part, and his community was forgiving enough to not hold the occasional late post against him.

As of right now, he was doing his best to write out her messages. He used one of his own journals for this, one that he made sure to hide. When he'd first starting receiving her books, his own had been blank. Now, it was half full. (Y/N) wrote a _lot,_ seeing as how it was her only pass time, and it seemed to Mark as though she had a lot to say.

Her current story was a memory of the two of them, the summer they'd planned a meet-up with a bunch of YouTubers, and the entire group had gone to Disneyland. She'd clung to his side the entire time, constantly claiming him when the need for partners rose, and she sat next to him on almost every ride. Of course, no one had objected. Bob, Wade, and Jack were constantly trying to set the two of them up, and the others didn't seem to care either way. Fans had noticed, sure, but the (Y/N)plier ship had been sailing since their first collab. Mark was particularly fond of this memory.

He read over what he had so far. Her words made his breath catch.

 _Mark, I know you're probably locked in your office right now, racking your brain trying to figure this out._ He looked up at the dark room around him, a small smile touching his lips. She knew him so well. _I'm glad they started sending  you these. It's much easier to plan out my messages through journal entries than on the spot and in person, ya know?  
_

He was well aware. It was definitely difficult, and Mark was constantly worried someone would catch on. Half of the time, they talked nonsense, and the other half of the time, they exchanged memories as some people exchanged questions. From an outsider perspective, it would look odd, he knew. Johanna just seemed to think they were catching up, that he was making her warm up to him so she'd reveal something. He kept reading.

_So I know that I've apologized to you already, but you deserve more than a whispered, 'I'm sorry.' There's so many things I'd like to say to you, but I never feel like I have enough time. There aren't enough words in the English language to chop up how much I've fucked you over. I know that I have, and I know I don't deserve anything from you, but I need to explain myself. I need to make you understand._

He let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his hands over his face. He'd been at this for hours, and now that he finally had the entire entry translated, he was sitting back to read through it. Did he want to, though? Mark still couldn't forget the look on her face when she'd apologized to him that first time, how utterly raw and exhausted she'd looked under her false front. He wondered what she'd be like in true seclusion, without having to worry about prying eyes.

_I didn't do any of this to hurt you. I know that you think I'm this terrible psychotic bitch who played you and everyone else for years, but I promise you, I am not who you think I am. Sure, it's painfully ironic that I say that, considering all that's happened. I know that. I'm so sorry. There's so much more to this than you think there is, and I don't even know how to begin to explain it. But I have to. Things aren't safe, and as long as I'm locked up, I might as well wear a target on my forehead._

His brows drew together in confusion. What the hell was she talking about? Not even taking into consideration her apology, because frankly, he couldn't deal with that right now, it sounded as if she were about to open the lid on Pandora's Box and throw him in. What else could there be to the story?

_When I met you, I was me. I promise you, I was the smiling girl you met up with at conventions and Skyped at three am when you couldn't sleep. Nevermind that it was six am for me. I didn't care. I promise you, it was all real._

He hadn't thought about those memories in years. It was true - when he'd first started YouTube and met her through other creators, he'd taken to her instantly. They'd become fast friends and met up whenever they could, and when they were on opposite sides of the country, he talked to her every waking moment of the day. He'd had some rough nights back then, and she was always awake when he needed her, ready to take his early-morning calls. 

_This 'Spectre' persona they're feeding you is all bullshit. I just went along with it because it's safe. I am not the bad guy, Mark, as cheesy and fucked up as it sounds. I didn't do those things. I swear, I didn't do it. I couldn't hurt someone like that, let alone hundreds of people._

His heart was racing.

_I don't even think I know the whole picture, if I'm being completely honest. Slipping into the Spectre persona allowed me to see a little more of it, and seeing as how I'm pretty good with softwares, it let me feel like I had a leg up. To be completely honest, Mark, I fucked up. I fucked up really bad. I don't even know how it happened, but I saw something I wasn't supposed to see, and it bit me in the ass. I mean, look at me now._

Why did this sound like some sort of Supervillian origin story? (coughs) Mark anxiously read over her words again, trying to understand what she meant. What was she trying to imply, that she was being _framed?_ How the hell would something like that even happen to someone like _her?_

_I've tried to remember where it all went wrong. It's a blur. A panicked blur. I had a big project under wraps for the channel, and god was I trying my best to keep a lid on it. I thought it was going to be huge, and it hadn't been done yet, so I was excited. I didn't tell anyone about it, not even you guys. Thinking about it now, it was so fucking stupid. I thought I'd be this crazy hacker gamer chick and make a few videos about 'hacking the deep web.' You know, stupid shit where I find bizarre websites and horror games hidden under the radar? Yeah, didn't exactly work out as planned.  
_

Mark froze. What the _hell_ kind of project was _that?_

_I'm sorry this is so rushed. I wish I could write more details, but there's only so many ways to describe a memory without them realizing it's not actually what I'm talking about. Anyway, I was working on that project. Somehow, and I have no idea how the fuck it happened, I came upon this site. Some online hit list, paying money to take out certain people. They were big fucking numbers, Mark, and the names weren't just your average people. They were famous people, important people. I don't know who was organizing or updating the list, but they sure as hell didn't want me on there._

He felt a chill settle down his spine. So she'd been fucking around with something stupid, and she'd accidentally come across some kind of...internet hit list? Definitely an origin story.

_I stopped filming for a while after that. I panicked. I was terrified they'd come after me, and I didn't know what to do. After a while, I started getting anonymous messages, but I could never track the ID. Threats, warnings, all kinds of messed up shit. I ignored them, for the most part. After about two weeks, they all started sending me a link. I tried my best not to click it, but after a hundred messages, I was curious. My panic was at an all time high and I was too much of a little bitch to just shut down my connection and figure it out. So I went to the link. It sent me to a list of codes, and through there, I got to the page it was directing me to. It was another hitlist, only this one targeted criminals, specifically your 'world's most wanted' types. I was confused at first, until I really looked at it. Mark, my fucking name was on the list. Number one. Front and center._

He swallowed a lump. 

_(Y/N) (L/N), fifty million. How the fuck was I supposed to react to that? I'd just done something stupid! I was just some idiot girl filming things for her channel, and I'd somehow uncovered something I REALLY wasn't supposed to see. What the fuck was I supposed to do?_

An image rolled into his head. (Y/N), setting up a camera, all smiles. Doing her intro as normal. Sitting down at her computer to get back to it. Messages popping up on her screen. Tired (e/c) eyes giving in, swallowing the information whole. Filling with tears, with panic. The camera was still rolling.

_They'd put a target out for my head, and I was the highest bid on the list. I didn't know what to do. I had to get a leg up on them. For fuck's sake, I hadn't done anything wrong! So I made Spectre. My alternate persona. My shield. I got a leg up and split a deal with some of the other people on that hit list, and we made a network. It was NOTHING like what they made it out to be, I promise you. I wasn't working with them, I wasn't conversing, fuck, I wasn't even acknowledging their existence. The deal was that I would watch out for online connections, and in return, they would watch out for me. That way, I was able to keep things under the radar and keep collectors from chopping my fucking head off._

He couldn't believe this. How the _fuck_ had something like this even happened? Mark couldn't help but wonder how she'd even gotten into contact with the criminals to begin with.

_Once I'd established my little empire and made my online presence known, they laid off a little. People knew not to fuck with me, and no one knew that all of my threats were empty. "Spectre" was a different person than "Y/N" as far as everyone knew. But I was so scared, Mark. I was fucking terrified. I woke up every morning expecting a barrel to be pointed at my head, and I kept weapons stocked between my mattresses in case anyone came to pay me a visit._

He felt his breaths grow short.

_I was so sure I was going to die. I just wanted things to be like they were before. I wanted you, good fuck, I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't get you involved. There were so many times I thought I'd break down and spill all of it to you, but I managed. I don't know how, but I managed. You don't understand how hard it was to pretend like everything was okay. To hug you and ruffle your hair and call you, "Markimoo" when I was counting down the days to my execution. To watch you smile when I walked through the door without knowing it might be the last time._

His throat tightened. His eyes were hot now, and it was a few minutes before he realized he was crying. It was all of the answers he'd been praying for, and yet, he wasn't satisfied. His chest had woven itself into a tight knot. He wanted to cry into a ball and let it out, but he knew he had to keep going. The only images in his mind were of the months he'd spent with her while this was going on, so oblivious to the torment behind her smiles. How hadn't he known?

_It turned out to be bigger than I'd thought. I'm still not sure how, but the government is involved. I'm beginning to think that they're behind the lists in general. Frankly, that's some pretty fucking shady shit. Hiring criminals to take out other criminals, feeding them their own citizens' money. I realized too late that I knew too much, and by then, they'd already set their crosshairs on me. Those murders were staged, Mark. All of them. All of the destruction, all of the ruin. Staged. Falsities. I don't know how they did it, but fuck did they pull it off. Now I look like a monster and everyone hates me. This is testament enough. I've been left to rot in a pit in the ground, and they're getting away with it._

He felt like he couldn't breathe. Oh god, he'd _left_ her there. He'd _abandoned_ her without question, without considering for once that maybe, just maybe, she was the girl he thought she was. 

_Spectre is real. That much is the truth. But she's not a monster, and fuck, she's not - I'm not - that grinning psychopath you see when you come to visit. I have to make them think I'm accepting this or they'll tear me down where I stand. They think they've rebuilt me. They think they've convinced me of the monster everyone else thinks I am, but I'm more durable than that._

_I know you don't want to get involved. I know that, and I know you hate me, and I know I broke your heart, and I know you've been hurting over this since I left. I know that. I know it, and it kills me. I spent months alone in confinement remembering the look on your face when you found out. I've retraced every detail and I can't get it out of my mind. I never meant to hurt you. Fuck, I never meant any of this. It was just a stupid project._

Mark sat back in his chair, the journal falling from his hands. Her last paragraph nearly did him in.

_I need your help. After everything I've put you through, I'll understand if you don't want anything to do with me. Just stop coming to see me, I'll understand. But if you have any shred of love left from those years I was that smiling girl, please, help me out of here. I'm durable, but I can't do this anymore. I don't want to be a caged animal. I refuse to be. Please, Mark. I miss you. I want to be that smiling girl for you again. I miss you. I love you._


	9. Chapter 9

Her eyes lit up like a crack of lightning the next time he came to visit. After cracking her latest journal, he'd been gone a week, just mulling over his thoughts and figuring out what he wanted to do. In all honesty, he still didn't know. But he couldn't keep her waiting.

"You came," She whispered, leading him over to the couches. She had a journal propped open on the desk, and he could see a couple of sketches laid out across the page. He wondered if she'd send that one to him, as well.

"I came," He murmured, doing his best to keep a small smile from gracing his lips. The fact that she was so surprised he hadn't disappeared was both shocking and gut-wrenching. He'd have thought she'd trust him enough to know he wouldn't abandon her. Even if he hated her, even if he could never forgive her, he wouldn't have left without saying goodbye. Not like she did.

"You came." She said it again this time, lips pulled taught by that sharp grin of hers. Her voice was quiet, and it seemed almost inappropriate with her expression. Eerie. She looked down at her twitching fingers, acting as if she were counting something off, and then her eyes flew up to his. "Thirteen visits! It's like you're my biggest fan!"

Mark swallowed a lump in his throat. She was alarmingly talented at maintaining her 'psychotic' persona. He cleared his throat. "I might as well be."

"Oh, no," She giggled, little knots of hair bouncing on her head, "You're not my biggest. More like second. Or third."

He frowned. "Who's ahead of me?"

"Weeeeeeell," She grinned, turning at the hip, and pointed at the mirror on the far side of the wall. Mark froze. It was a one-sided window with a reflective mirror on her side, but she wasn't supposed to know that. "Joe watches me from theeeere," She pointed to the main door, "And guard number three two six nine comes through there every day." She turned to him with a feral grin. "You should really up your game."

He grumbled. "I'll try harder next time." As much as he was trying to maintain his usual, 'I actually hate you but I'm being forced to sit here' attitude, it was becoming pretty impossible. Her words were echoing through his head without mercy.

_I miss you. I love you.  
_

He cleared his throat again, sitting back against the couch. She was watching him with a hungry smile, but something about her eyes looked different...than before...Was she crying? No, that wasn't it. Her eyes were another type of glossy, as if she hadn't slept in days, or she was sick...What the hell?

_I love you._

"Are you okay?" He asked her, quirking a brow. "You look tired."

She carefully covered her frown with another grin. "I'm just peachy!" Her voice cracked on the last word.

Something was definitely wrong. Mark felt his muscles tense, and he looked at her with a close precision he hadn't bothered with in weeks. She looked slightly uncomfortable, but there was something else. He couldn't put his finger on it and it was bound to drive him insane. Her eyes were glossy. Her cheeks were red, but her skin was pale. She looked like a bag of skin and bones. There were bags under her eyes, like shadows inside of her skull. She was hugging her knees to her chest, and when she smiled, it didn't reach her eyes. Her eyes. They were glossy.

Suddenly, the doors opened, and a couple of guards strolled in. Without a word, they yanked him up by the arms and ushered him out, their lips sealed and faces hard like stone. He barely had a chance to look at her before they were throwing him out into the hallway. Johanna was waiting.

"How did she know?" She demanded as he recovered himself, watching miserably while they closed the door to (Y/N)'s cell. When he didn't answer, she grabbed his arm, forcefully helping him to his feet. "How did she _know_?"

"Know about _what?"_ He wouldn't let her see his panic. There was no way they'd know about he and (Y/N)'s exchanged words. He was too smart to just leave the journals lying around, and they'd have no reason to search his house, anyhow. So what the fuck was she talking about?

"About the mirror." Johanna narrowed her eyes at him, promptly leading him to elevators, which were open and waiting.

"She's in a jail cell under heavy observation," Mark said with a heavy sigh, "Anyone who's ever watched a crime drama knows that a random mirror in a prison room is an observation window. It's not that hard to figure out."

She let out a frustrated sigh, tucking her clipboard under her arm. "It's not just the mirror, Mr. Fischbach. How did she know my name?"

"Your name? She said-" It clicked as he thought over the situation again. He felt the color leave his face. _Joe._ "I...I don't know."

She studied him for a second before nodding, writing something down on her clipboard. He wasn't close enough to see what it was. "Mr. Fischbach, I do hope you're not letting your memories get the best of you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Mark gave her a cross look, eyebrows furrowed and lips pulled into a gaunt frown.

"The two of you only speak of memories. It's quite odd, the conversations you have." She said it in a way that made his blood boil. _She's catching on. Oh god, she's catching on._ Her next words surprised him, "I'm worried about you."

That caught him off guard. "What? Why?"

"Because, I don't think you truly comprehend who you are dealing with, Mr. Fischbach. This is a psychological criminal. She has a pretty face, yes, but she is a monster. Her game is playing people, and I'm beginning to wonder if that's her goal with you."

He was silent for a second. _I can't trust this woman. (Y/N) mentioned that someone upstairs was pinning her for this, and Johanna works for the people upstairs. She's just trying to get inside of my head and make me think that (Y/N) is the bad guy. She's just going to say terrible things about her so I'll stop trusting her. (Y/N) said that these people..._ His heart sank. _"Johanna said"_ and _"(Y/N) said"_ sounded too alike for his taste, and he was starting to confuse himself.

"Has she tried speaking to you?" Johanna's voice drew him from his thoughts.The question made him uneasy.

"I speak to her every time I visit her." He didn't trust her. He didn't know who to trust.

"Has she tried sending you any secret messages? Does she try to slip you notes?" She was interrogating him now. "Tell me, Mr. Fischbach. Do you find her mention of memories the two of you shared to be pleasant or unpleasant?"

"Of course they're _unpleasant."_ He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. "She betrayed me. She wormed her way into my heart and made me think she was mending it, and then she walked away with the rest of it. Our memories stopped being 'pleasant' the day she climbed into the back of a police car." He spat the words.

Johanna simply nodding, pursing her lips. "I only hope she won't worm her way in again." The elevator was coming close to the main floor now. "I'm going to let you in on a little secret, Mr. Fischbach."

He sighed. "What?"

"Whatever you may think, I promise you, this is her game. This is what she does. She convinces people of her innocence and well-wishes and lures them in, and then she crushes them for her own benefit and pleasure." She looked over her glasses at him. "Be smart. You would not be the first to fall."

That made him feel cold. "W-what?"

"Guard 3269 was her old post. He was charged with standing on the interior of her cell door and keeping an eye on her behaviors. She did the same to him as I presume she's trying with you, only she succeeded. She twisted his frame of thought so far that she was the only thing on his mind. He was _adamant_ about her innocence, to a point that he began hostilities with his co-workers, and accusing the government as using her as a scapegoat. He told these crazy stories she'd slipped him, about the deep web and hit-lists and how she was just this innocent girl who'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time."

He felt as though he couldn't breathe anymore. "What happened?"

She frowned. "Just what you'd expect." Johanna smoothed her shirt out and readjusted her clipboard as if she hated telling the story. "She wedged her way so far into his brain, he couldn't get her out, and he attempted to break her loose. In the process, he opened fire on thirteen of his fellow soldiers, killing seven. Even upon his arrest, he truly, whole-heartedly believed in her innocence. He named _us_ monsters, for Christ's sake."

Mark had trouble keeping his pulse even. _...guard number three two six nine comes through there every day..._ "But he's still allowed to visit her every day?"

She frowned once again, confused. "No, Mark." She was quiet for a second. "We're not sure how, but...she killed him."

The elevator doors rolled open.

"Look after yourself, Mr. Fischbach." Johanna began to walk out, but stopped, looking at him over her shoulder. "Don't play a game you don't know the rules to."


	10. Chapter 10

He hadn't slept well in weeks. He couldn't get her out of his head. Visions of her, smiling and crying, starving, shivering in the corner of a cold room while her mind ate away at her. She'd wormed her way in again.

He'd managed to keep up with his video schedule, but a few days ago, the lack of sleep had gotten to him. His throat was raw from hours of yelling and crying, and his vision was spotted more than it was clear. He was able to get away with saying he'd come down with something, but in truth, he was tearing himself apart.

_"We don't know how, but she killed him."_

Surely Johanna had been lying. That was the plan, right? To confuse him, make him think that Spectre - no, _(Y/N)_ \- was lying to him. _Right?_ They'd probably just taken care of the poor guy themselves, and added it to the list of things she'd 'apparently' done. That had to be it.

He'd even gotten to the point of trying to find the same dead pools she'd found, earning him hours of relentless stress and dead ends. Any trace of whatever she'd found had disappeared, and though Mark didn't credit himself as being some 'pro deep-web hacker,' he figured he'd have at least found _something_ after the hours he'd put into it. But no, nothing.

Mark had already finished translating her journals. There had been a lot of them, and he had pages and pages of messages, but he'd finally finished. The gist of it was that she'd, as she'd said, discovered some super illegal government dead pool that pinned some very important people for some very sketchy things. There were a few holes in her story, but considering her method of telling it to him, he'd give her the benefit of figuring some had gotten lost in translation.

He didn't remember falling asleep.

_"Markimoo." Her voice was calling at him, pulling him from his slumber. He felt soft fingers brush the skin of his face and the soft flutter of lips on his eyelids. "Mark." There was a dip in the bed beside him. "Wake up."_

_When he opened his eyes, it was dark. The moon was glowing brightly into his window, creating an environment that put him in an odd mood. Melancholy, almost. As his eyes adjusted, he felt fingers on his arm. Bewildered, Mark looked over, and there she was._

_Her smile was softer than any other, and her eyes were lit up in a way that radiated warmth. "Hey there, Markimoo." Her soft fingers brushed his left temple, finding their way into the unruly ends of his red hair._

_"You're here," He breathed, still in shock. He wasn't sure if this was reality or really,_ truly _real. Here she was, in his bed, her soft skin pressed up against his, looking healthier and happier than he'd seen her in months._

_"I'm here." She smiled, her soft words making his heart swell in a way he thought he'd forgotten._

_"But," He murmured, grasping for words, "What about Johanna? The guards? Aren't they coming after-"_

_She made a soft 'shh' sound, stroking his cheek. "Let's not worry about that, Mark." Her eyes found his. "I've missed you so much."_

_His breath caught in his throat. "I've missed you too." Within a few seconds, he'd wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest, burying his face in her hair. He barely noticed that it wasn't the odd, platinum-silver color he'd seen her sport inside of her cell. No, it was back to the color he'd known before. (H/C)._

_"I was so scared you wouldn't come for me," She whispered into his chest, sending shivers down his spine. "I thought you'd hate me too much to give me a chance."_

_He closed his eyes, taking in the way her skin felt against his. He'd missed her touch for so long, he'd almost forgotten the feel of it. "I didn't want to, at first." He let out a bitter laugh, his eyes still closed. "I just can't stay away from you."_

_He could feel her smile. "Mark?"_

_He let out a soft sigh. "Yeah?"_

_"Wake up." Her words were soft. "Wake up, Mark."_

_"I am awake." He frowned, leaning back to look at her._

_She shook her head, a sad smile on her lips. "No, sweetheart, you aren't." She leaned forward just enough to kiss his forehead, her eyes dulling. "Wake up, Mark."_

_He sighed. "(Y/N), what are you talking about?" His frown deepened. "I am-"_

_"Wake-"_

"-up." 

Mark stirred slightly, a soft groan slipping past his lips. Was he in his bed? Of course he was, he didn't remember getting _out_ of it. It took a moment, but he noticed the lack of heat on his chest.

His heart sank. It had been a dream.

"Mark," a panicked voice said, "Wake up, please." It was barely a whisper, but he heard it.

His eyes shot open, looking around for the source. He fumbled absently for his glasses, cursing under his breath at his inability to locate them. Finally, his fingers found the metal frames, quickly slipping them across the bridge of his nose.

His breath left his body. "What the _fuck_ are _you_ doing here?"


	11. Chapter 11

She was crying, holding her hands up in defense.

"Before you say anything," She murmured, avoiding his eyes, "I didn't...I'm not-"

"(Y/N)." He hadn't meant for his words to sound so curt, but they came out in a harsh tone that inevitably made her flinch. "How are you here?"

She was pacing back and forth at the end of his bed, running her hands nervously through her hair. When he spoke, she whipped her gaze up to his, eyes wide. "I...I got out." She sounded so panicked. "Don't ask how. I'm not...even sure, I just..." She sighed, sniffling, "I didn't know where else to go."

"Shit." Mark quickly climbed out of bed and rummaged through his drawers, pulling on a proper pair of pants and a t-shirt. He'd have been shy changing in front of her, but it wasn't like he was taking off his boxers, and they'd known each other long enough that she was seemingly unaffected. " _Shit."_ He quickly pushed past her and head for the stairs, taking them two at a time, nearly busting his ass on the way down. She followed, hot on his heels and anxiously waiting for him to say something else. "They're going to look for you here."

"I know." She sighed, rubbing her hands over her face. He almost felt bad for her - as indecisive as he was about his current feeling towards her, he hated seeing her so panicked. "Dammit, Mark, I _know._ "

"What are you going to do, then?"

She looked at her feet. He could tell that she was struggling with whatever she wanted to say. "Do you...um," She looked up at him, "Still have...-"

"Your clothes?" He nodded, motioning back to the stairs. "Upstairs, in the guest room closet."

The smile that split her lips was enough to catch his breath. It was as if she'd been drowning in panic and anxiety and he'd thrown her a line, like she'd come to the realization that he was her only redemption. Mark found that he didn't like feeling so responsible for her.

She was gone for a few moments, and when she returned, she looked like a completely different person. Her hair had been brushed and tied back, and she was wearing the most normal outfit he'd seen her in since her arrest. A t-shirt and skinny jeans, as well as a hoodie, a hat, and some high tops. She smiled at him as she passed, heading for his kitchen. He followed her, curious as to what she was doing, and realized with knots in his stomach that she had a bag waiting for her on the counter.

"You're leaving." He hated how disappointed he sounded.

She sighed. "What else am I going to do, Mark?" She sounded so defeated. He couldn't imagine the thoughts running through her head right now. With a sad expression, she looked to him, "They're going to hunt me down, and I seriously doubt they'll take me back kicking and screaming this time."

"Why did you even _do_ this?" He ran a hand through his hair, raising his arms in frustration. "Why not just wait until we could figure something out? I was so close, (Y/N)! I finished all of the journals, I was trying to find the sites-"

" _You didn't."_ Her face paled. "Mark, tell me you didn't find them." She was suddenly in front of him, her hands on his shoulders. " _Tell_ me, Mark."

He frowned, confused. "I didn't find them." It wasn't a lie, but he didn't understand why she was so panicked. Sure, finding those sites was what had gotten her locked up in the first place, but he'd been smarter about it. "There wasn't a single trace of them."

Her shoulders sunk with relief and she mumbled something that he couldn't hear. After they stood there for a few moments, she stepped away and grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulders. He watched her sadly, unable to deny the worry that was creeping over his bones. Sure, she'd been through hell and back, but he wasn't so sure she'd be okay. Running from people with _that_ much power? She'd have to go off the grid just to be able to sleep at night, and even then, he doubted she'd be safe.

"So..." He said, tucking his hands into his pocket. "Where are you going to go?"

She sighed. "I don't know, Mark."

As she was rolling the sleeves of her jacket up, Mark suddenly stepped forward, bringing her into his chest. She stood stiffly against him, but relaxed after a few moments, her arms finding their way around his torso as well. They hugged for a few minutes in silence, neither one of them sure what to say.

"I'm so sorry, Mark," She mumbled against his chest, sounding suspiciously depleted. "I'm sorry I'm putting you through this."

He leaned back, putting his hands on her shoulders. She was crying again, only her tears had yet to fall full-force. He did his best to wipe them free before speaking. "Swear to me that you're innocent," He begged quietly, gaze hard. He was terrified of her answer, but he had to know.

She stood there a moment, shocked, but her answer was unwavering. "I'm innocent." She looked up at him, setting her lips into a firm line. "I swear."

He pushed her against his chest for a moment longer, finally giving in, before slipping out of her grasp and grabbing his keys from the counter. She watched him, confused, as he gathered his wallet and jacket, as well as an extra change of clothes and a duffle bag full of things he'd need. When he was done, he motioned to the front door. "Let's go."

She frowned. "Mark-"

"Let's go." He said it again, more firmly this time. Mark knew that she was thinking about it, trying to find a way to deny him, but to his surprise, she gave in. Without a word, she followed him out to the car and climbed in, holding her bag securely to her chest. He knew she was scared, and fuck, he was too, but he had to do this. For her. To make up for all of the months he'd doubted her.

Mark only prayed that he wasn't wrong.

 

* * *

 

 

"Here." Mark had taken out as much cash as he dared from the ATM, and he'd used a little of it to buy them two late night bus tickets, on route to a location that they had no ties to. Sacramento. That was only a stepping stone, though - somewhere that they could coordinate a plan without worrying about thousands of police cars and helicopters. Luckily enough, they'd figured out where to go. More specifically, Seattle. He'd been there a few times, and sort of knew his way around, but he had no other reason to show up there. He imagined it was enough of a start.

He'd taken his car to the Grump space and parked it there without a word to anyone. They'd know it was his car, and he was too smart to leave it at the bus station. If he was doing this, he'd be damned if he made stupid mistakes. Even if he was a rookie outlaw, he'd played enough games to have somewhat of an idea.

She looked up from the notebook she'd been writing in, a soft smile on her lips. "Thanks." Without another word, she tucked the bus ticket into the front of the journal and put it away.

After he'd dumped off the car, they'd taken a city bus to the bus station. They hadn't had to wait for the bus to Sacramento, seeing as how they'd planned ahead, and within minutes they were off, on the road. Once there, they'd gone into the public bathrooms and put another layer of clothes on under the clothes they'd been wearing since they'd left his house; once they were on the bus, they'd take the top layer of clothes off and put them away, and then get off of the bus wearing a completely different outfit than they'd gotten on with. He wanted to remain as low profile as possible, and she'd hardly objected. He would be in just as much trouble as her if they got caught - not only had he housed a fugitive and been an accomplice in her escape, but he also knew just as much as she did, which was very incriminating.

"Hey, Mark?" She asked softly, looking at him from under the rim of her hat.

"Yeah?" He was wearing a hat, as well. A black one, one he hardly ever wore. He'd have gone with the blue, but he wore that one too often to stay off the radar. Whenever they got to Seattle, they both planned to dye their hair, as well. He'd go back to black, and she'd go...whatever she went with, he guessed.

He felt her fingers brush his, and he instinctively twined them together, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Thank you," She choked out, "For coming with me."

He imagined she'd have been crying if she hadn't already cried herself out. "I wasn't going to let you do this alone."

She sighed, looking down at her feet. "I'm just shocked you actually believe in me."

He felt his heart sink. "Are you going to let me down?"

She glanced over at him, eyes sad. "I hope not."

He nodded, squeezing her hand again. "Me too." Mark used his grip on her arm, pulling her into his side. As he did so, his eyes searched for the clock on the wall, reading **11:37 pm.** Their bus was set to come in at 11:45. They didn't have to wait too much longer.

Every sudden movement or group of people made his eye twitch. He was constantly worried that they were going to be caught, or given up, or hunted down. He was so sure that they'd make a rookie mistake, and he'd have to watch from the back seat of a police car as they whisked her away, fighting, shoving her into another hole and throwing away the key. He didn't think she'd survive that treatment again.

She rested her head on his shoulder, letting out a tired sigh. "I really missed you," She whispered, looking up at him. "Every day, every moment I was given time to think, I was thinking about you."

He felt his heart tighten. He wouldn't lie and say he hadn't done the same thing, but it wasn't always pleasant remembrance. "I thought about you a lot, too." He rested his head against hers, sighing. "I'm sorry I doubted you."

She didn't respond at first. Suddenly, there was the sound of loud brakes from the platform, and she linked her arm through his, pulling him up. As they pulled out their tickets and started in the direction of the loading dock, she glanced over at him, pushing her hat further down her forehead. "I'd have doubted me, too."

Her words made his stomach tie itself into knots. With a sullen silence, they climbed onto the bus, inconspicuously choosing two seats about three fourths of the way back. There were only two other people on the bus, one in the front and one in the back, and neither of them paid him or her any mind. When she sat down beside him, they linked hands, both too terrified to say anything else.

As the bus pulled out of the parking lot, Mark watched her, realizing with a dejected clearance how much hell she'd been put through in a year. He knew one thing, and one thing alone.

He was going to find that smiling, harmless girl he'd known a year ago, and he was going to bring her back. If it meant bringing down all of the people trying to hurt her, as unrealistic as it was, he'd do it. He realized with a burning ferocity that he'd torch cities for this girl, and if that was what he had to do...

...He'd do it.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

Had it been normal circumstances, he'd have welcomed Seattle with open arms. Mark had always had a strange fondness for the city - whether it was the change in weather or just the attachment he'd placed on it considering it housed one of his favorite conventions, he wasn't sure. He just knew that he liked the city. This morning, though - this morning it seemed like a steely trap.

He was terrified that someone would recognize him. Or her. Both of them, even. That was something he hadn't considered about Seattle: they were two popular YouTubers hiding out in one of the convention capitals of the nation. Great planning there, Markimoo.

The hotel he'd chosen to house them for now was a three-star rating, possibly cockroach-housing structure with a dingy pool and shifty-eyed maids. He knew choosing a nice hotel would give him away, and he also knew that choosing a super gross motel would be too predictable. With heavy shoulders Mark began to realize how unfit he was to be a fugitive.

Surprisingly, she was calm. She'd slept most of the bus ride, waking up every now and then like she was trying to make sure he hadn't abandoned her there. He, on the other hand, had been restless. Mark was a nervous wreck - he knew they needed to figure out a game plan, and he wasn't exactly sure what the hell he was doing. If he left her, and went home now, he could conceive some bullshit story about how he'd heard of her escape and ran, to protect himself, and maybe help her from a distance. _Or_ he could stay with her, raise her chances of being recognized, put a giant target on his own head, but rest assured that he'd always know how she was and be able to make up for his lack of faith in her. Both prospects were equally terrifying.

"I haven't been here in a long time," She said when they'd finally entered their room. She immediately set her bag down on the bed and sat, running her hands through her hair. They only had one bed - two had been more expensive than he wanted to put down in cash, and he sure as hell wasn't about to use his card.

"The convention was weird without you," He admitted, setting his own bag down on his side of the bed.

"Why?" She looked over her shoulder at him, eyes wide in curiosity.

Mark shrugged. "Jack was off the wall, and the entire panel dynamic was thrown off. I think the girls missed you, too. Signe didn't really talk about it, but she went off on her own a lot."

She smiled sadly, looking down at her lap. "I miss her," She said softly, so much so that he almost didn't hear her. He felt bad for bringing it up; (Y/N) and Signe had gotten very close over the years they'd seen each other at conventions, and between them, Jack, and him, it was always a good time.

"You'll see her again." It didn't even sound convincing to his own ears.

 "Yeah," She agreed, not sounding very sure of herself. She was silent for a moment, sitting with her back to him, but he could tell that she was frowning by the way her shoulders slumped. "Hey, Mark?"

He looked at her, still standing awkwardly by his side of the bed. She was still facing the wall, so he quickly stuttered out a rushed, "Yeah?"

"You should go home." He watched as her shoulders slumped further. Finally, she shifted her position, sliding into a sideways stance that allowed her to gauge his reaction. Her eyes were wide and full of stubborn, unshed tears. Before he could protest, she continued, "You're already going to be in trouble, and I don't want-"

"No." He shook his head, the word a little more brisk than he meant it to be. "I'm not leaving you."

She was shocked. "But-"

"No, (Y/N). Like you said, I'm already screwed. So what if they put a target on my forehead and sick the nation on me? I'm not letting you do this on your own." He sighed, coming around to her side of the bed. With tentative fingers, he brushed a straggly strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb softly brushing her forehead. "Not anymore."

She looked up at him then, her lip trembling. "God dammit, Mark," She muttered, rubbing at her eyes. "You're rubbing off on me. Now _I'm_ a bubble-blowing baby." Despite how inappropriate the time was, her humor served as a relief for him. The air had been too thick, too tense, and her soft giggles quickly interrupted that.

"You've always been a bubble-blowing baby." He grinned, his hand slowly returning to his side. He wanted so badly to lean forward, to kiss her forehead, but he had to reign that in. That was the part of him that had loved her for years; he'd always yearned for her touch when she was gone, her smile when he was down, her laugh when he was stressed. Since the day he'd met her, he'd wanted to wrap her in his arms and whisper words into her ears. Where that may have turned into something a year ago, when he was finally in a place to confess his feelings, he wasn't so sure about now. Now, they were fugitives. Now, she'd gone through a year of mental and physical abuse, all the while knowing that he'd cursed her name. Now, he wasn't sure she'd still be here in the morning. He wasn't so sure about himself, either.

"What are you thinking about?" She frowned up at him, a finger poking into his chest. "Your face got all scrunched up."

"Oh," He sighed, "Nothing." Mark forced a smile down at her, his heart practically racing. He had so many things that he wanted to say to this woman in front of him, but just as with her joking around, the situation was hardly appropriate.

"It's not nothing, Mark," She murmured, chewing anxiously at her lip.

He hated that she was able to read him so well. "Just thinking. You know, about everything that's going on." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth. With a hesitant breath caught in his throat, he brought his hand back to her face, fingers curling gently around her cheek. He didn't lean forward, or use his hold on her to bring her closer. He just sat there, enjoying the way her jaw felt cradled in his palm.

She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes briefly. "It's a mess, isn't it?" She asked, peeling one eye open.

Mark nodded solemnly. "It's a mess."

Suddenly, she wrapped her fingers around his arm and pulled him down onto the bed, laughing at the soft, "oof" that passed his lips as he landed. He mumbled something incoherent and grasped at the comforter, trying to contort his body into a position that didn't hurt. Finally, he settled onto his back, looking over at her with a hand over his heart and his eyebrows drawn in mock offense.

"What was that?"

"You weren't expecting it, now were you?" She dropped her back to the floor and crawled up, towards him. After a second, she pulled off her jacket and threw it down at well, coming to rest on her side, a foot from him. "It's really late, you know."

"I know." He smiled, looking sideways at her. "You slept most of the day, though. Are you tired?"

Just as he asked, she yawned, trying her best to cover it. "A little."

Mark laughed, shaking his head. "Wow."

"Aren't you tired?"

Her yawn was contagious, and soon, he found his own jaw contracting. "A little."

She shoved his shoulder, scooting closer. Eventually, her head was resting on his shoulder, her body pressed up against his chest. He might've been surprised by the contact, had she not done this hundreds of times before. Despite the fact that he'd never had the guts to tell her that he was in love with her, they'd always shared a special connection. Many times, she'd spent the night at his house, and often they slept in this exact position. Come to think of it, they'd acted like a couple for years. Holding hands, hugging for longer than friends would, and, of course, her staying the night all the time. They'd never really kissed, and they'd never...well, _slept_ together, but he'd almost caught her lips in his a hundred times.

As if on cue, she looked up at him, pressing her lips to his chin. "Thank you, Mark."

He glanced down at her, raising a brow. "You don't need to thank me. You've done that enough."

She smiled, shaking her head. "No, I can't do that enough."

He slung an arm around her shoulders, laying his head back to stare at the ceiling. "You don't need to. Just don't let me down."

He felt her weight grow a little heavier, and a few seconds later, he heard a heavy sigh. "I'm trying," She murmured quietly, shifting her head on his chest. "I'm really trying."

Mark rubbed his hand gently up and down her arms, sighing himself. "I know you are." Slowly, he pressed his lips to the crown of her head, feeling the weight of their situation on his chest. "I know you are."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So my schedule is finally clearing up, and I think I'm going to start trying to update this story every weekend. Also, I have a question. I got a comment on my last chapter asking if I was going to include smut in this fic. I'm not opposed to writing it, but I figured instead of answering their comment with a maybe, I'd just ask if that's what you guys want. Let me know!

"Ireland?' Her face fell, paling. "Are you _serious,_ Mark? I can't do that."

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. They were sitting in an open room - it had been three nights since they'd made it to Seattle, and in order to mix things up, they'd moved all of their things from their previous hotel to a new one, staying in a small, simple room on the first floor. It hadn't been enough to deter him from panicking, though. Mark was still terrified that their efforts weren't enough, and each day in this city was driving him more and more insane. Something about the familiar streets and large youth population really got under his skin. So, in a spur of the moment decision, he'd bought two tickets to Ireland.

"(Y/N)-"

" _No,_ Mark." She crossed her arms, frowning. "I've already pulled you into this. I'm not delivering my problems on Jack's fucking doorstep."

"He wants to help." Mark held out the tickets to her, practically pleading; he'd had his doubts, too, but Jack had assured him many times that this was okay. Given, he'd demanded a little explaining, but after Mark had debriefed him on the situation, he'd jumped on the opportunity. Secretly, Mark thought that Jack truly _had_ missed her, and he almost admired the Irishman's loyal spirit. Even after she'd been arrested, he'd never spoken badly of her. Disappointed, yes. Betrayed, definitely. But never hate, and especially not spite.

She shot him a look then, her brows raised in surprise. It looked as though she'd been told that her ill grandmother had made a full recovery. "You talked to him?"

He nodded, holding out a hand. Ever so slowly, she stepped forward, pushing her soft fingers into his. Mark tightened his grip and pulled her forward until she was standing directly in front of him. "I did. I explained everything, and I actually think he believes me. You, I mean. He sounded anxious to make sure that you're okay." Mark offered her a sheepish half-smile, silently praying she'd give in. "I didn't ask him for this, (Y/N). He offered."

He watched as her shoulders relaxed a little. She stood there for a moment, pondering the idea in silence, before releasing a large sigh. "Alright."

"Alright?"

She smiled. "Let's do it."

* * *

By some stroke of divine intervention, he'd managed to secure her a fake passport. Originally, Mark had planned on just using his, but a few swaying words had convinced him to buy one for himself as well. Even though they had yet to put out an official warrant on his name, he didn't want to test the waters by sending it out into the digital world. _"You might as well put big neon letters above your head that say, '_ _Watch me escape!'"_ She'd said. It hadn't taken him long to discern how right she was.

Her hair was brown now, so different a shade than he'd ever seen grace her head before. Every time she turned around, it took him a second to remember that it was her. Obviously he _knew_ it was, but Mark was still adjusting to the look. He had to admit, though, he'd liked it. His own hair was back to the blackish-brown it had been before he'd colored it, and he'd been growing out his facial hair a little more than usual. It looked convincing enough, so he didn't really mess with it.

So here they were, anxiously making their way into the airport. Her hand was held securely in his, and with every step, she squeezed it just a little tighter. Though he didn't show it, Mark was just as nervous. In his mind, this was a terrible idea. Of _course_ they'd get caught. What was the success rate with fake passports, anyway? Surely it was low. Surely.

"Mark?" She looked up just enough that he could see her eyes under the rim of her hat.

He looked at her sideways, subconsciously making sure his feet were still moving correctly. Was he walking weird? Did he look suspicious? Of course he did, he was probably _sweating-_

"Mark," She murmured again, squeezing his hand. "Relax. It's going to be okay."

He swallowed a nervous lump in his throat. Mark almost felt bad - here she was, a fugitive with an undoubtedly high price on her head, and _he_ was the nervous one. He needed to buck up and be strong. For her, at least. "You're right." Mark drew her into his side, pulling his bag tight at his shoulders. They didn't have any luggage - they hadn't brought any to Seattle, and they'd be buying new clothes in Ireland. It wasn't as though he'd brought his recording equipment along, and necessities were easy to replace.

Not having any luggage meant skipping the weigh station, putting them directly into the TSA line. It was a good thing, too. They'd arrived late at the airport, and since he'd last checked, it was only an hour until their plane departed. Being such a big airport, it meant long lines, but it also meant that there was more room for error. That was what he was counting on.

Sure enough, by some miracle, they made it through without problems. For a few moments, he'd gotten a couple of interesting stares, and Mark had almost lost his mind thinking he might've been recognized. If they had recognized him, fans or not, by some grace they'd decided not to approach him. He'd never been so grateful to go unnoticed in his life.

The hour passed quickly, and they found themselves sitting beside one another, anxiously gripping at each other's fingers. Luckily for them, there was no delay. It was so unlike his usual experience with airlines that it almost seemed _too_ coincidental. That is, of course, until (Y/N) graciously reminded him that _most_ people managed to secure a flight without much trouble. He was just misfortune's favorite target.

By hour two of the flight, she'd given in to her yawns and fallen asleep on his shoulder. Mark was restless, though. Every twenty minutes, his heart would begin racing, and he felt as though the quickened beats were becoming his normal pulse. Behind his eyelids waited an array of horrible outcomes, and he refused to allow his subconscious to paint any pictures.

It was an eleven hour flight to London, and from there, they would wait around for an hour or so to board a flight to Dublin. After that, they'd just figure it out. Mark had left that part of the planning up to Jack, seeing as how he actually _knew_ what he was doing. The best part of the entire transition would be the flight from London to Dublin, seeing as how it was so short.

So when he still couldn't sleep by hour six, Mark felt as though he was going to lose his mind. (Y/N) had slept soundly, for the most part - occasionally muttering something unintelligible, or waking up just long enough to shift positions against him. He was happy for that; she deserved to sleep, and with how shitty her rest had been lately, he was just glad that she was able to both fall asleep and stay asleep. He'd even made an effort to make her more comfortable, landing himself in a very _uncomfortable_ position, but it was well worth it.

"Mark?" She sat up, scaring him out of his thoughts. With a yawn and a tired rub of her eyes, she looked to him. A frown graced her lips. "Have you still not slept?"

He offered her a goofy half-grin, tucking a messy piece of hair behind her ear. "Nah, but that's okay. I'm not tired." That was a lie, and they both knew it.

She kissed his cheek, pressing her forehead to his temple, and he could feel her fingers thread through his own. "Yes you are," She whispered, pushing her weight against his, "Here, sleep on me, I'll take my shift."

Mark raised a brow at her. "Shift? Is this the Hunger Games?"

She just grinned. "Oh, shut up. You know what I mean." Sure enough, she sat up and removed her weight from his shoulder, leaning in a way that he could fit snugly against her side.

Without a lot of hesitation, Mark took her up on her offer, leaning his head against her shoulder and threading his arm around the crook of her elbow. She let out a soft sigh and rested her head on top of his. Within minutes, her steady breathing was already lulling him into a sleepy state. He was passed out by the end of the hour.

Though his sleep was riddled with anxiety-driven nightmares and the occasional jump from slumber, he managed to catch up a little. It was without a groan of protest that he sat up five hours later, when she uttered soft words into his ear and shook him awake.

"Mark." He could tell she was smiling by the way she said it, and when he opened his eyes, he was met with the same grin he'd known for years. She pressed a soft kiss to his temple and gently slid out of his grasp, grabbing her bag from under the seat in front of them. With grogginess heavy in his bones, he did the same, setting it in his lap. "We're in London."

She sounded so excited that it brought a giant, doofy grin to his face. "Already? I can't believe I slept through that." Mark rolled his gaze over to her, noting how frizzy her hair was on the right side of her head. "Did you manage to fall back asleep?"

She laughed, nodding. "Yeah, after an hour or two. I have to say," She leaned a little closer, as if it were a secret, "You are absolutely adorable when you're sleeping."

Mark just scoffed at her, looking past her to the window. "Not only does that sound _incredibly_ creepy," He couldn't help the small laugh that escaped with his words, "You've also seen me sleep before. It's nothing new."

"No, it's not," She murmured, her smile settling into a soft upward tilt of the corners of her mouth. Her expression changed, looking almost melancholy. No, bitter-sweet was a better description. "It's just been a long time."

He felt his chest pang a little, and did his best to give her a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry," Mark whispered, "I'm sure that by the end of the week, you'll see me sleep so much, I'm drooling at the mouth."

She giggled and pointed ahead of them, directing his attention to the flight attendant, who was monotonously giving out orders. The both of them followed her directions, buckling their seat belts and ceasing their conversation. In what felt like minutes, the plane had descended in London and they were being instructed to gather their things and exit the plane. Maybe it was the excitement of being somewhere new. So seemingly untouchable.

"I've always wanted to go to London," She murmured, her hands wrapped around the straps at her shoulders. Her hair, which she'd given up on and let down, hung loose and slightly tousled. The majority of the mess was hidden under her hat, as was his.

"Me too. I've almost made it out here a few times, but things never worked out." Mark waited patiently for her to release her backpack before grabbing her hand, liking the familiar feeling of it, especially in such a foreign environment.

"Well, here we are." She glanced over at him, jutting out her bottom lip. "And we only get to be here for an hour, stuck inside the airport. Fate's a bitch, ya know?"

Mark laughed, shaking his head. "How about I bring you back here sometime, and we can explore the city as much as you'd like?"

The way her eyes sparked at his suggestion made his heart melt. "Really?" She asked, standing just a little taller.

He nodded, adjusted the straps of his duffle. "Of course." Without another word about it, Mark grinned and directed her across the airport - once again, without bags, they were able to skip the pain-in-the-ass hassle that was baggage claim, and go directly to the next gate. He'd booked both the initial flight and the layover on one itinerary for the same airline, so they'd gotten both tickets when they'd first checked in. He was so glad he'd actually spent time planning this one.

It was very early in the morning, so the gate for the London-Dublin flight was fairly empty. It was still about forty-five minutes until their next fight boarded when they found the gate, so Mark suggested that they go find something to eat and come back. He'd have gone himself, but he didn't like the thought of leaving her alone in the airport of a foreign country, particularly because of her fugitive status.

They'd found a small cafe not too far from their gate that smelled delectable enough. At this point, though, he'd have eaten anything. Mark ordered himself a coffee and a traditional breakfast, and stepped aside to allow her to put in her order. Usually, he'd have gone for something a little healthier, but it was 4 a.m. and he just didn't have the energy. Their order was given to them in minutes, and they found a table by a glass wall, allowing them a decent view of their gate. From here, they could have a secluded, quiet breakfast and not have to worry about a change in their flight going unnoticed.

"So," She said, sipping at her drink, "My first impression of London: the tea is better."

"Of course it's better," He retorted, chuckling. "I still can't believe you ordered coffee _and_ tea."

She looked at her two cups with a defensive expression on her face, frowning. "The tea is to satiate my curiosity, and the coffee is to ensure that I even make it to Dublin alive. What's so hard to grasp about that?"

He just stuck his tongue out at her, quickly replacing the look by biting into his breakfast. Wow, he hadn't had bacon in a long time. "God, this is so good," He mumbled.

She giggled, looking away. "Gross, Mark. Chew your food." Despite her tone, she was smiling, all evidence of her sleep deprivation practically wiped from her face.

They joked quietly as they ate, every now and then making jabs at one another, or telling stories they knew the other would appreciate. The air between them felt lighter than it had in a long time, and for a few moments, Mark let himself slip into feeling like old times. This was how they'd been, before all of this shit had gone down. They'd been happy in one another's company. Him, in particular. Something about sharing this breakfast with her made him rethink all of his hesitation on her front. He'd missed this. He'd missed _her_ , more than he'd ever realized.

"Have you heard from Jack recently?" She asked, raising a brow at him.

Mark shook his head, pulling a notebook from his duffle bag. "I trashed my phone, for obvious reasons. I have his number in here, though." He motioned down to the notebook, a small smile on his face. "I guess we could always spend the rest of our hour and a half indulging in the outrageously overpriced Samsung store over there." He motioned at the brightly lit, blue beacon of technology that was the store in question, just across the boarding area.

She nodded, gathering her trash. "Then let's go, doof."

Sure enough, they spent another half hour in the store, setting up a new plan under his false information. False name, false bank account, false everything. He'd _really_ come prepared, and it was beginning to pay off, regardless of how illegal it was. By the end of their efforts, they both walked out with a new phone, activated and ready for use. She'd objected at first, but when he'd reminded her that it was necessary for him to keep in touch with her, she'd hesitantly given in.

"So, I guess our lovely Irishman gets to have the honor of being your first call." She grinned at him, tucking her phone into her pocket. She wasn't nearly as excited about setting it up as he was.

Embarrassingly enough, he'd already done it. He'd even transferred the contacts from his notebook to his new phone, personalizing all of the names and finding pictures on the internet to match. The more he thought about it, the more embarrassing and so utterly 'Mark Fischbach' it seemed.

"I could always call you, if you're jealous." He raised a brow, a soft smirk finding its way onto his lips.

She laughed, shoving his shoulder. "I'm not jealous. Call him already. I'm sure your boyfriend's waiting at the phone."

Mark rolled his eyes and found Jack's contact, quickly hitting the call button. Alarmingly, he answered after the second ring. Maybe he _had_ been waiting.

_"Hello?"_

"Hey, it's Mark."

 _"Oh! I was wonderin' who's number this was."_ He heard a soft chuckle and a sigh. _"So yur in London, then?"_

"Yeah, we just landed a little while ago. We still have about..." He looked at the time, grabbing her hand once again. (Y/N) guided him back to their gate, her lips split with a soft smile. "Twenty minutes until our flight starts boarding. We grabbed some food and set up new phones. You know, for obvious reasons."

 _"Yea, I figured."_ There was a soft rustling, as if Jack were moving something. _"How was the flight? Did ya manage ta sleep a little?"_

"We both did." Mark smiled over at her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "It was fine, just like any other flight, I guess. Did you figure out our plan for when we get to Dublin?"

_"Yea, I'm picking ya up. I'm actually in the car now. The drive from Athlone ta Dublin is about as long as yur flight."_

Mark nodded, realizing too late that Jack couldn't see it. "Sounds like a plan. I guess I'll let you know when we land?"

_"Sure thing. I'll talk to ya then, Mark."_

"Bye." Mark ended the call and tucked his phone back into his pocket, looking at her expectantly. "Are you nervous?"

She knew what he was talking about. Biting her lip, (Y/N) nodded, fingers grasping his a little tighter. "I haven't spoken to Jack in a long time." She swallowed, looking down at her feet. "I owe him an explanation."

Mark wrapped an arm around her shoulders, resting his head gently on top of hers. "And he'll want one," He murmured, "But he's the most forgiving out of all of us. He wants to see you, (Y/N), really." He leaned forward just enough to look at her face. "Okay?"

She nodded, smiling softly. "I've missed the little guy." With a soft giggle, she added, "I wonder if he's hit puberty yet."

 


	14. Chapter 14

"Hey! Over here, ya idiots!" Jack's voice rang out above the entirety of the airport, calling an _alarming_ amount of attention to him. Almost instantly, his face flushed, and he ducked his head in embarrassment.

The two of you waited for the attention to die down before heading towards him, bags in tow. The second you were within ten feet of him, he lit up like a firework on the fourth of July. He and Mark were quick to embrace - they were _definitely_ secretly dating, you thought smugly. After Mark pulled back, Jack turned to you, his hands hanging awkwardly at his sides. You could tell that he was stuck; he didn't know whether to hug you, or shake your hand, or just wave. After a short moment of hesitation, though, he pulled you into an embrace as well.

"I haven't seen ya in so long," He murmured, squeezing at your torso. He pulled back, hands on your shoulders. "Ya look...different."

"I am different, I guess," You admitted, a soft laugh slipping past your lips. "It's nice to see you, Jack."

He smiled - a soft, boyish half-smile. "You too, (Y/N)." With that, he grabbed your suitcase from you, ushering the two of you forward. "Let's get a move on, then."

 

* * *

 

 

Athlone was what you'd expected, for the most part - quaint, dark, a bit on the colder side. What you hadn't expected was how _alive_ it seemed - cute lines of shops, cobblestone streets, waterfront sidewalks. It was unlike any place you'd ever been, and the lack of familiarity was almost refreshing.

"Signe's excited ta see you," Jack said as the three of you were dropped off in front of his apartment building. "She was so thrilled when I told her that the two of ya were coming."

What Jack had failed to mention upon your landing was that he _still_ didn't have a license, or a car, so your method of transportation was via a few kind taxi drivers. Luckily, none had caused you much trouble, and the taxi fares actually seemed cheaper here than LA.

"Really?" You'd missed the little Danish redhead, as well. Her quirky smiles and soft voice had been featured in many of your convention vlogs; at first, it had been because the boys had always ditched the two of you. Soon, it was because the two of you had grown close. Even if it was because her boyfriend liked to ditch her.

"Yeah. She spent all week getting together a bunch of concept art for ya. Unlike other people, she sort of...latched on to the whole _Spectre_ thing." Jack shrugged, pulling out his keys. As he unlocked the door, he looked at you, raising a brow. "I wasn't sure if it would make ya uncomfortable, though. I can ask her not ta show ya, if ya want."

"No," You murmured, fully aware of how ecstatic Signe was about sharing her art, "It's okay."

Jack smiled, clearly thankful that you weren't going to crush his girlfriend's dreams.

Sure enough, the moment the door was open, a small figure wrapped herself dutifully around your torso, nearly knocking you over in the process. "(Y/N)!" She murmured into your sweatshirt, pulling back just enough to see you. "It's been so long! I've missed you!" Signe's accent was much less discernible than her boyfriend's. In fact, it was only with certain words that you really heard it at all.

How she was more energetic than her usually-rapturous boyfriend was a mystery. More often than not, Signe was the balancing calmness that made Jack just a little easier to handle in person. Now, though, their roles seemed to be swapped.

When she finally released you, you grinned, patting her warmly on the shoulder. "I knew you were innocent," She mumbled, looking sheepishly down at her shoes, "All this time, I knew it.

Jack was grinning in the doorway, and reached out a hand for his delightful girlfriend, who took it and allowed him to usher her inside. "I'll put your suitcases in your room, make yourselves at home." He shut the door behind you and Mark and began to head off down the hall, but something stopped him. "Oh, and I hope ya two don't mind sharing a room." Jack smiled, embarrassed. "It's all we have."

"That's fine," Mark responded, looking to you. When you nodded, he turned back to Jack, gifting him with the same response. "Thank you, Jack. For everything."

"No problem. It's the least I could do." With that, he disappeared down the hallway, leaving you, Mark, and Signe to settle into the main room.

Almost as if on cue, Signe bounded for the kitchen. "I made cookies. Would either of ya like one?" Her glasses glinted almost as brightly as her grin.

"I'd love one." You smiled softly, watching the excited little Dane disappear around the bar. You felt an arm wrap around your hips and looked up, smiling at the way Mark stared at you. "What?"

"Nothing," He said softly, "I'm just...happy that we're safe. At least for the moment."

You pressed your head to his chest, smiling into the fabric. "Me too, Mark. Me too."


	15. Chapter 15

"So this is my most recent one, and I drew this one a few weeks ago..." Signe pulled page after page from her portfolio, shoving them in (Y/N)'s face and jittering on excitedly about all of the concept sketches she'd thought of.

Mark was beginning to lose count, but he was at least glad to see that the two had been reunited. They spoke as if (Y/N) had never been arrested, and Mark liked that. If there was anything that (Y/N) needed right now, it was something normal, and Signe seemed determined to deliver that.

"Hey," He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up, spotting the shorter Irishman just behind the couch. He was speaking lowly, clearly trying to keep his words out of the girls' ears. "Could we talk for a moment? Out on the porch?"

"Sure thing." Mark took a second to work up the desire to leave his comfortable spot and stood, shooting them a reassuring smile before disappearing with Jack out onto the porch. "What's up?"

"I just figured we need ta talk, ya know?" Jack sat in one of the chairs, motioning for Mark to follow suit. He did, and Jack continued. "She's just...so different. It's incredible."

"I know." Mark rubbed his hands over his face. "I feel like I've seen more sides of her in the last year than the entirety of the time that I've known her." He looked at Jack, who was listening intently, practically on the edge of his seat. "I mean, the girl we knew before...well, you know, _before..._ she's someone else. I _saw_ Spectre. Or at least (Y/N) playing Spectre, and let me tell you...not a good sight." He sighed. "And now, she's fragile, and she's paranoid, but she's back to being sweet, and caring, and reassuring. I'm lost, Jack. I'm completely lost."

"I understand." Jack leaned back in his chair, running a few fingers through his neon hair. "She is different. Sort of like the (Y/N) we used ta know, but...different. A little more...broken."

"I don't know what we're going to do." Mark looked out from the porch, catching a glimpse of a few brightly colored buildings, all lining a cobblestone road. "I just feel like-"

"Can I ask ya a question?" Jack interjected, tilting his head a little to the side.

Mark frowned. "Sure."

Jack seemed unsure of his words. "How...did she convince ya ta help her? Escape, I mean."

He felt a chill settle in his bones. "Escape? Do you mean...prison?"

"No, oh god, no." Jack shook his head, letting out a bitter laugh. "I know ya didn't help her do that." He sighed, looking over at Mark. "What I mean is...I thought ya still felt betrayed, ya know? I have ta say, I was a little shocked when ya told me that ya were helpin' her."

"I do still feel betrayed." Mark set his jaw in a firm line. "And shocked. And...disappointed. I'm still not even sure if I completely believe what she tells me, but...-"

"Ya love her." Jack was staring pointedly at him. "Don't ya? After all of this, ya still love her."

"I..." Mark put his head in his hands. "I don't think I ever stopped, Sean." He paused. "I think that's why I've taken this all so hard."

"Have ya ever told her, Mark?"

"No." He sighed. "I don't know how to. And now that this is happening, it just doesn't seem like the right time."

"Why not?"

"Because...what if something happens?"

Jack was staring at him with that "I think we both know the answer" smile of his. "I think that's more of a reason as ta why ya _should_ tell her, if I'm being honest."

Mark sighed, cursing the Irishman under his breath. "Goddammit, I guess you're right."

As Jack was about to snort out a witty response, the door opened, and Signe slipped out. She smiled at the two of them and made her way to her boyfriend, kissing his cheek. "Hello," He said, smiling, "Where's (Y/N)?"

"She went for a walk." Signe smiled and pulled over another chair, sitting between them.

Mark froze. "A walk? As in outside?"

Signe frowned, raising a brow. "That's usually where people walk, isn't it?"

"By herself?"

Now Jack was also frowning. "Did she say where she was going?"

"No, she just-"

"Dammit!" Mark rushed back inside, quickly swiping his coat and making for the door.

 

* * *

 

 

The room was dark. Cold, too, but the temperature difference between the inside of the building and the air outside wasn't that far, so it was manageable. After all, you'd walked here.

The building had taken a few minutes to find, and you'd walked past it twice. You weren't upset, though - that just meant that they were doing their jobs. Something easily discerned was amateur, and you didn't work with amateurs. No, you worked with professionals. Or so they thought.

"So ya made it ta Athlone." A man's voice filtered in through the door, and before you could stand, he was already carrying his weight into the room. A tall man, with a receding hairline and decent facial hair. His eyes, angled and sharp-looking, were a peculiar shade of blue that you'd only seen a few rare times before. He wore a black jacket and dark-washed jeans, accompanied by a pair of thick combat boots and a couple of watches. Why he wore so many, you'd never asked.

"Sure did." You smiled, shoving your hands into your pockets. "I promised you I would, didn't I?"

"I didn't very well expect ya ta keep it," He murmured, grinning. "Ya sly fox, how'd ya convince that li'l boy 'a yours ta fly ya out here?"

"I didn't." You grinned, returning to your seat. He did the same, taking the chair across the table from you and claiming it as his own. "I helped him come up with the idea all on his own."

"Well how'd ya do that?"

"With a little subliminal messaging. Ya know, a mention of a name here and there, conveniently placed words and ideas. Wasn't that hard." You slumped down a little, making yourself comfortable. "That's beside the point, though. How have you been, Butch?"

"Good as ever, li'l lady. Your old friend here's made quite a name fir himself." He grinned, a toothy look with a few silver pieces, and crossed his arms. "Ya figured out ya plan yet?"

"Not quite. Still working out a few kinks, but it's coming along smoothly."

"Does the li'l man 'o yours have any idea?"

You frowned. "No, and I'd like to keep it that way."

Butch held his hands up in defense, laughing softly. "Still feisty, I see. Very well, he won't hear a word."

"Thank you." You pulled an envelope out of your jacket, sliding it across the table to him. He took it curiously, his eyes watching you as his fingers pulled the pages free. "That's a list of a few officials that got a little too close. Pass it on, would you?"

Butch grinned that toothy grin again. "Anything for you."

He opened his mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by the door suddenly opening, a little brunette quickly making his way in. "Excuse me, Butch," His eyes found you, "Ma'am."

"Yes?" You asked, coming to your feet. He looked to be out of breath, as if he'd been running, and from the panicked look on his face, you could tell that something was wrong.

"Sorry ta interrupt, ma'am, but one 'a our men spotted that man ya flew here with."

You froze, feeling panic settle in your limbs. "Where?"

"Not here, don't worry." He made a motion with his hand, trying to reassure you. "He's a few streets over. They said he's runnin' around, calling yur name."

"Very well." You shoved your hands back into your jacket, turning to the other man. "That's my cue, Butch, gotta run. Take care of those names for me, yeah?"

"Like I said, anything for you."

You smiled your thanks and headed out, practically jogging to the exit. Figuring that waltzing out the front door of an abandoned-looking building wasn't a great idea, you headed instead for the back door, shoving it loose from it's rusted hinges and making your way into the alleyway out back. Sure enough, the moment you were free in the street, you heard Mark's voice bouncing off of the walls. From the sound of it, he was a street or two over, but his booming voice carried.

" _(Y/N)!"_

You took a deep breath and jogged in his direction, quickly discovering the frazzled man at the end of an alley a block over. "Mark," You breathed, taking a second to catch your breath. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

He turned at the sound of your voice, relief washing over his face. "Shit, (Y/N)," He murmured, rushing you. Before you could respond, he wrapped you in his arms, crushing your weight against his front. "Signe said you went for a walk by yourself, and I...I was worried."

You felt a bitter guilt pinging in your chest, begging you to tell him. But you couldn't. He couldn't know where you'd really been. "I just wanted some fresh air." You pulled back, looking up at him. You could tell by the sweat on his forehead that he'd been looking for a while now. "Oh, Mark, I'm sorry. I would've gotten you, but you and Jack were talking, and I didn't want to interrupt-"

"Don't apologize." He smiled, trying to catch his breath. "I overreacted. I was just worried, is all."

"Well don't worry, you big goof." You kissed his cheek, smiling back at him. "We're safe here, at least for now."

He seemed reassured enough by your words that he released you, opting instead to thread his fingers through yours. "Let's go back then, huh? I'm sure I scared the hell out of Signe, rushing out of there like that."

You laughed, "You and me both, I guess."

Signe and Jack were waiting just inside the door when you returned, and by the looks on their faces, you knew they'd been worried as well. Signe quickly volunteered to go get more of the cookies she'd made, and Jack launched into a short lecture about being one of the US's most wanted criminals and deciding to go for a stroll down the streets of Athlone.

"We're not in the US anymore, Jack," You reminded him, winking.

He just rolled his eyes, unable to contain the small smile threatening to split his stern expression. "Just let us know next time, yeah?"

"I promise, dad." You giggled and made your way into the living room, graciously accepting one of the cookies from the tray that Signe returned with.

"You know," She said, sitting down. "It's getting late, and I'm sure the two of you are tired after your flights. We won't be offended if you opt to turn in early."

Her smile was so endearing that the small pang of guilt you'd felt earlier returned.

"Come to think of it," Mark said from behind you, catching you by surprise, "I _am_ pretty exhausted. What about you, (Y/N)? Ready for bed?"

You actually were. "Yeah, I think I am." You stood, taking his offered hand, and smiled warmly at your two friends. "I'll see you two in the morning. Thanks for the cookies, Signe. Goodnight."

"Goodnight!"

"Night!"

Mark ushered you down the hall, waiting for you to step into the guest bedroom before promptly closing the door. "Is it just me," He murmured, sauntering past you, "Or is Jack oddly calm?"

"He is, and Signe's oddly hyped up." You giggled, rummaging through your suitcase for some night clothes. You'd taken off your makeup earlier, so all you really had to do was change and brush your teeth.

Mark was one step ahead of you, already exchanging his t-shirt for another one, this one softer in material and looser in fit. "Took the words right out of my mouth. Go figure."

"Signe's just excited, is all." You smiled at him, excusing yourself for a few minutes to go brush your teeth and use the bathroom. When you returned, he went to do the same, leaving you to change into your pajamas - a t-shirt and pajama shorts. Given, it was actually _his_ t-shirt, but you weren't about to give in to useless information like that.

Mark came back with a grin plastered on his face. "Those two are so cute."

"Why do you say that?" You asked, climbing into bed.

He climbed in beside you, adjusting his pillows to the way he liked them. "I went to get a glass of water and saw them cuddling on the couch. I'm pretty sure Jack passed out on Signe." He chuckled, propping himself up on his elbow. "It was nice, to see them relaxed."

"It's nice to see _you_ relaxed," You said, smiling. You slid down so that you were propped up just enough to look at him, raising a brow. "What are you grinning about?"

His cheeks flushed, caught red-handed. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

"Nothing." He smiled to himself and rolled over.

"Oh no, mister, you're not playing this game." You grabbed his shoulder and tried to pull his weight back over onto his back, but he resisted. Giggling, you leaned forward, pressing your weight onto his side and peering at him over his shoulder. "What're you thinking about?"

He looked at you out of the corner of his eye, smile still present. "You." When you released him, he rolled back over, smile growing.

"What about me?"

"How I'm happy that you get to see your friends again." He said it so matter-of-factly that you _might_ have believed him.

"I'm _sure_ that's all you were thinking about." You laughed, shaking your head. "Spill the beans, Markimoo."

You figured he'd respond, but instead, he pushed his weight forward, effectively planting a kiss on your nose. "I'm afraid I can't quite yet. It's confidential."

His words made that pang return, but you didn't let your smile falter. "I'll keep your secret."

He grinned. "Promise?"

"I promise."

He laughed, holding out his pinky finger. You took it, and the two of you shook, giggling like idiots. "Fine. I...um," He laughed, a sheepish smile coming over him, "I...want to kiss you."

You didn't hesitate as he might've thought you would. "Then do it."

Mark froze. "Really?"

"Really."

Sure enough, he leaned forward, pressing his lips against yours. It was soft and sweet, everything you'd expect from a guy like Mark Fischbach. Before he could crack a joke or some witty retort, you leaned over him, turning off the lamp.

"Goodnight, Markimoo." You whispered against his lips, grinning.

"G-goodnight," He stuttered. You could tell he was blushing by the sound of his voice, and you had to admit, it was cute.

When you laid down, you felt his weight behind you, and after a few hesitant moments, he wrapped his arms around your torso. His face found a place in the crook of your neck, resting gently just behind your collarbone. His warmth was actually a bit of a blessing in the cool room, and it wasn't like you two had never cuddled before. He was always this way - stuttering, but sweet, gentle, always with the best intentions. He was such a good guy.

And, shamefully, you were playing him.

 


	16. Chapter 16

Mark had gone out with Signe to run some errands. (Y/N) had begged to come, but the three of them had all agreed that keeping her inside was the best choice, so as to avoid cameras and prying eyes. Her face had yet to make international news, but Mark worried that it would soon, and he didn't want to take any chances. So Jack was left to babysit her, despite him swearing up and down that this wasn't any sort of 'house arrest.' It wasn't, but she _technically_ wasn't allowed outside, and he _technically_ was supposed to keep her from doing anything stupid.

He also worried about her. After her disappearance the night before, something had been gnawing at him - even though he wanted to believe her story wholeheartedly, there was a small part of him that didn't fully trust her. She'd let him down once, so, the selfish, nagging part of his brain reminded him, what was stopping her from doing it again? He didn't voice his concerns, of course; Signe was so thrilled to see her again, and he knew that Mark was clinging to the hope she'd given him. He prayed for all of their sakes that she was telling the truth.

She'd been acting odd all morning, though. Anxious, pacing back and forth. She watched the door as if she had somewhere to be, but quickly wiped her expression clean when he re-entered the room. Jack didn't think she noticed him watching her from the kitchen. Something was off.

"(Y/N)?" He asked, carrying a plate into the living room. He extended it to her, waiting for her to relieve him of the weight before taking a seat, cradling his own plate in his lap. Mark and Signe would be home sometime soon, but they'd grabbed lunch out, so he figured he'd make the two of them something to hold them over until dinner. He didn't worry about his best friend being out with his girlfriend - Signe was loyal, and besides, Mark was head over heels for the girl in front of him. Even if he hadn't been, Jack knew that Mark wasn't that kind of guy.

"Oh, thanks." She smiled at him, but the expression didn't reach her eyes. Jack realized too late his mistake - he'd forgotten to take the onions off of her sandwich, and he'd learned from past experiences that she _hated_ them. With horror on his face, he watched her take a bite, bracing himself for her onslaught of curses and slightly dramatic reaction.

But nothing happened.

"Umm...(Y/N)?"

She chewed her food, tilting her head at him curiously. "Yes?"

"Yer eating onions."

She glanced down at her sandwich, eyebrows furrowed. "I am?" Slowly, she lifted the bread, noticing the little rings nested atop of the other ingredients. "Oh, I guess I am."

That gave Jack pause. "But ya hate onions."

She froze, looking up at him, and then back down at her sandwich. "I do?"

He frowned, quirking a brow at her. "Yea, ya do. Yu've hated onions fer as long as I've known ya. Ya throw a fit every time ya have ta eat 'em."

Something changed on her face. Did she look...panicked? "Oh, yeah. I guess...um...you get a lot less picky when they're feeding you garbage." She met his eyes then, let out a forced, dry laugh.

Jack was unconvinced, but smiled none-the-less. "I imagine yer right." Suddenly, a thought popped into his head. Interested in pursuing his idea, he stood, making his way over to the TV. "Want ta watch a movie while we wait for Mark 'n Signe?"

She brightened up, taking another bite of her sandwich. _Odd._ "Sure!"

"How about, 'I Am Legend'?"

"That's fine." (Y/N) grabbed a blanket off of the back of the couch, wrapping it around herself. Once it was secure, she re-positioned herself so that she was angled slightly to the side, her legs brought up to her chest, and her plate balanced on her knees. It was a few minutes before she noticed Jack staring blankly at her. "What?"

"Yer okay with watchin' this?" Jack was dumbfounded. What was going on with her? Had she really changed _that_ much in lockup? Surely being held in prison didn't give you a new perspective on things as trivial as movie selection.

She looked confused again. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"(Y/N)," He murmured, speaking softly, "Ya hate this movie. And not because it annoys ya, ya actually _hate_ this movie. The first time ya saw it, ya immediately shut it off 'n told us that we better never mention it again."

"Why did I do that?" She seemed as dumbfounded as he did.

"Because the dog dies? Ringin' any bells here? Last time Mark tried ta put it on, ya threw a tantrum and nearly tossed the disk inta' the garbage disposal." He tossed her the movie case, watching the curious way she looked at the cover. It was as if she'd never seen it before.

Her mouth pulled down into a frown. "The dog dies?"

"Ya seriously don't remember?"

"No." She tossed the case back at him, shrugging. "Oh, well. Just put it on."

His jaw nearly hit the floor. "Okay, there's definitely something wrong with ya. Are ya feelin' alright?"

Her eyes widened. "I'm fine! I just...you're right...let's watch something else." With that, she smiled at him, even more profound than her confusion.

Jack couldn't believe she didn't remember this. Sure, she might've forgotten a few things in the year she'd spent rotting away in some cell on an island, but she wouldn't just forget such prevalent memories like that...right? Part of her _identity_ was refusing movies where pets died, even lesser pets, like rabbits and mice. Jack couldn't shake the creeping feeling that this encounter was causing. What had happened to her?

 

* * *

 

 

After Mark and Signe returned, they got started on making dinner. A Danish recipe that Signe insisted on creating, now that Mark and (Y/N) weren't so jetlagged. It was delicious, Jack had to admit, but the dinner was put off by his sinking feeling about (Y/N). To make the feeling even worse, she turned in considerably early - the plates had barely been cleared when she started mentioning how exhausted she was, and before Signe had even finished dessert, she retired to the guest room without another word. Mark wasn't tired at all yet, he claimed, so he stayed downstairs.

"I hope (Y/N) isn't coming down with something," Signe murmured, joining Jack on the couch. He and Mark, who was sitting in the recliner adjacent to the side table, had been playing Mario Kart on the TV.

"I'm not sure," Jack mumbled, eyes trained on the screen, "She's been actin' weird all day."

Mark glanced over at him, raising a brow. "Weird how?"

Jack sighed, pausing the game. He figured this was a discussion to be had with full attention, not divided between each other and the screen. "Well, for starters, I forgot to take the onions off'a her sandwich, 'n she didn't notice."

Signe frowned. "She _didn't notice?"_

He nodded. "And when I told her about it, she wasn't phased. Said somethin' about how ya get less picky when yer eatin' prison food." 

Mark was also frowning. "I mean...I guess that's reasonable. Odd, but reasonable."

Jack sat back, slinging an arm around his girlfriend's shoulders. "That's just the top of it, though. I suggested a movie, and when I picked out 'I Am Legend', she didn't care."

Mark's eyes widened, clearly aware of her usual dramatic fit over that movie. "Define, 'didn't care.'"

He nodded, making a motion with his hair. "She agreed ta watch it. And what's more, she didn't remember the bit about the dog dying. At all."

Signe chewed on her lip, clearly unsettled by what he said. "What did she say after you reminded her?"

"Well, she still agreed ta watch it, and when I asked her if she was feelin' alright, she quickly said I was right and we should watch somethin' else."

Mark was staring at his hands. "Did anything else happen?"

"Not much. She didn't remember a few memories I brought up. She tried ta act like she did, but I could see through it." Jack particularly remembered when he'd mentioned her odd cosplays at a convention a few years before. For good measure, he'd stated that she'd gone as Mercy from Overwatch, which had presented a few problems - not only had she never cosplayed Mercy, but the game itself hadn't come out until _after_ she'd been arrested. Regardless, she went along with it, pretending as though the fallacy had actually happened. "I asked her if she remembered cosplaying Mercy from Overwatch a few years ago, 'n she agreed."

Signe looked at him in disbelief then. "Why would she think that was true?"

"I don't know." Jack looked to Mark, who had been oddly silent. "What do ya think, Mark?"

He was quiet for a moment longer. "I don't know." Jack could tell from the look on his face that he didn't like the thoughts running through his head. "Who knows what they did to her in there. You should've seen it...she was helpless. I can't imagine it's too much of a stretch to wager that they messed with her head."

"I guess you have a point." Jack sighed. "But I don't like it."

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

Mark was getting worried about her. The more he thought about it, the more the thought of her making such big mistakes with her memory made him uneasy. How could someone forget something so prevalent? He knew she'd been through hell, but...surely it wasn't enough to wipe her memory like that?

He took cautious steps down the hallway, toward their shared bedroom. She'd probably fallen asleep by now, and waking her up was the last thing he wanted to do. Perhaps she was just sick, or stressed beyond belief, and had made a few mistakes, right? Besides, she could use the sleep.

He barely got the door open.

"(Y/N)?" The room was in disarray, with items from her suitcase strewn all over the floor and bed. Where it was evident she'd been laying in the bed, there was a small indent, and in its place was a pile of dirty clothes he'd previously been storing in the closet. As for her, though - she was nowhere in sight. He repeated himself. "(Y/N)?"

There was a whimper from the corner. Quickly, Mark shoved some of the clothes aside and made his way around the edge of the bed, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head. She was huddled in the corner, her fists bunched in her hair and her eyes wild, filled with tears. He could tell from the way her cheeks glistened that many had already fallen, and it was a few moments before he noticed the bruises lining her arms. From the shape of it, he realized with horror, she'd given them to herself.

"What happened?" He breathed, crouching down to her level.

She looked up, but it wasn't at him, rather _through_ him. Her eyes were slightly glazed over, and her tears were already falling once again. "Get out," She whimpered, catching him off guard. Mark sighed, surprised, and wondered if she truly wanted him to leave. His questions were quickly diminished, however, when her whimpers increased. She slapped the side of her hand against her head, catching him by surprise. "Out, out, out."

"(Y/N)?" He touched her arm, and within seconds, she'd wrapped her fingers around his bicep and wormed her away against his chest. Her eyes finally cleared, finding his face.

"They found me," She whispered, voice small, "Mark, they found me, oh god, they found me..."

"Who? (Y/N)? _Who_ found you?" Mark grasped desperately at her shoulders, trying to give her a controlled environment in the selfish hope that she might relax a little. "How did they find you?"

Her face gained the most hopeless expression he'd ever seen her wear - sunken, hopeless eyes filled with tears, lips drooped in terror, her skin pulled taught from stress. When she spoke next, her voice was dry and struggling, clearly fighting back sobs, "They're in my head," She insisted, "I can hear them, they won't get out."

Her hand started to slap at her head again, but he grabbed it, eyes wide. (Y/N) dissolved into panicked sobs and short breaths in his arms, very nearly on the verge of hyperventilating. He didn't know what to do; Mark had never seen her like this, and he sure as hell didn't know what she meant by anything she'd said.

"Jack!" He shouted, panicking, "Jack!"

He was at the door in what felt like hours, but in reality was mere seconds, his green hair clearly visible over the edge of the bed. "Yeah?" Jack took a second to take in all of the clothes on the floor, his eyes eventually finding the two huddled frames in the corner. "Oh, _fuck."_ He rushed over quickly, crouching down just behind Mark. "What happened?"

"I don't know!" Mark looked at him, his worry etched plainly on his face. "Just listen."

She was muttering now, repeating a frantic, hushed whisper of, "Out, please, get out of my head," Under her breath. Mark made a motion at Jack, who's own eyes had grown wide. "Please," She sobbed, pulling at her hair. "Mark, Mark," She reached desperately for him, grabbing at his shirt, "Make it stop. I can hear them. Please, make it stop."

"You can hear _who?_ " He scooped her up and placed her on the edge of the bed, giving both him and Jack a better vantage point to keep an eye on her. Mark's fingers brushed under her chin, forcing her eyes up to his. "Talk to me, (Y/N). Don't listen to them right now, okay?"

By this point, Signe had heard the commotion and come running, but she stood anxiously in the doorway, almost as at a loss for what to do as they were. Mark offered her a reassuring smile and turned his attention back to (Y/N), who was nodding frantically. "Okay, just look at me, can you do that?"

Her tear-filled eyes found his, and she nodded again. "They won't stop talking."

He gripped her shoulders, nodding. "What are they saying?"

She sniffled, making a face as if she were trying to listen. "There's more than one...th-they say t-to come home, and t-turn myself in...and...." Suddenly, she jolted upward, her eyes widening so far that he was sure they'd pop out of her head.

"What is it?" Mark tried to touch her arm, but she rolled away, tucking herself into a little ball. She was pulling at her hair again, taking in very short, panicked breaths. "(Y/N), what happened? What did they say?"

"I hear beeping!" She squeezed her eyes shut, letting out a brief shriek, and tried to cover her ears. "There's something in my head, Mark! They put something in it!" She was sobbing again.

Jack turned to him then. "What the fuck are we supposed ta do?"

"I don't know." Mark looked at her, hating how terrified she looked. "I don't know if this is a psych thing, or..."

"Signe, what are you doing?" Jack cut him off as his girlfriend approached (Y/N) on the bed, her slender fingers reaching tenderly for her shoulder.

(Y/N) didn't flinch this time, and allowed herself to be rolled over. Her shoulders shook with the recovery of her lungs after her panicked episode, making it difficult to see what Signe was getting at. She looked up at him and Jack. "Look here," She said softly, pointing to the base of (Y/N)'s skull. At first, Mark saw nothing, but when Signe placed her hands on (Y/N)'s neck and slightly pinched her skin forward, he saw it; a small, dark object under the skin on the back of her neck, buried deep enough that it wasn't visible without manipulation. "There's actually something in her head."

By this point, (Y/N) had exhausted herself, and she lay still aside from the movement of her shoulders with each breath. Had her eyes not been open, Mark would've thought she'd passed out.

"What the fuck," He murmured, rubbing his hands over his face.

"We have ta get it out!" Jack was pacing back and forth, rubbing his right hand furiously over his beard. "How the fuck are we goin ta do that?"

"Just let me think for a second," Mark murmured, eyes fixed on her crumpled form. "Jack, watch her for a second. Signe, can you meet me in the kitchen?"

"Of course." She stepped aside so that he could pass and quickly filled in the space behind him, not saying a word until they'd reached the kitchen. "What is it?"

"So you know how Jack used to get super antsy with planes, and you'd give him those sleeping pills that knocked him out fairly quickly?"

She nodded, face light with understanding. "I probably still have some. Not sure if they would work, though."

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth turning up into a half-witted smile. "Worth a shot, right?"

"Right." Signe began rifling through the drug cabinet, pulling down bottles and setting them aside when they weren't the one she needed. After about twelve of them had found a new place on the counter, she came to a smaller black bottle and handed it to him. "She needs to take two. Here," She stuck a glass under the water faucet on the fridge and handed it to him once it was half-full, "But Mark?"

"Yeah?"

"Even if those work and she passes out, what are we going to do about that thing in her head?"

He sighed, shrugging. "Honestly? I have no fucking clue."


End file.
